


Waiting For Tuesday

by Vanilla_Pips



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Multi, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 101,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanilla_Pips/pseuds/Vanilla_Pips
Summary: When you're a group of camp counsellors with the same day off, you all eventually grow pretty close.
Relationships: Beauregard & Caduceus Clay & Fjord & Jester Lavorre & Nott & Caleb Widogast & Yasha, Fjord & Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett & Nott & Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast & Yasha, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 351
Kudos: 374





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Three things up top y'all:  
> 1) I somehow have never written and published a fanfic/any other serialised fiction before. I don't know what I'm doing, and I have never known what I'm doing, please be gentle.  
> 2) I am very much not up to date on CR (ep. 31 as of 5/3/20) and reserve the right to back edit without notice or justification.  
> 3) I grew up primarily in Australia but also lived in Europe attending American school for three years. My spoken English dialect is a horrific mix of Australian, British and American English. I am just writing this fanfic to have a good time, so while I'll try not to make it distracting, I'm not going to stick strictly to American English or any other dialect. If you're confused about what I mean when I say words, just let me know and I'll try to help out.

Beau slung the duffel bag over her shoulder and slammed car door maybe a little too violently, just to make sure it closed. She didn’t want the lights to stay on for a week without her noticing and drain the car battery.

From the hill the staff carpark perched upon one could see the entire campsite. The main mess and activities hall was furthest up the hill, the shower and toilet blocks below it, and then rows of cabins after that until the tree line. Beyond that, a river that fed into the nearby lake.

Beau kicked a small rock, which began tumbling down the hill. A few metres ahead of her it found its mark on the back of a young woman’s leg. She turned around, a moment of genuine shock and betrayal on her face before she picked up the rock and pegged it back at Beau. Beau ducked to one side as it sailed past her ear. Jester grinned a fearless grin, and Beau decided just to be grateful that she had fast reflexes.

This was certainly going to be a summer.

“What are y’all doing back there?” The imposing, muscular man a few meters in front of Jester turned to look at the two of them in utter confusion.

“She started it!” the two of them said in unison.

“Give me strength,” mutter Fjord in reply, “You two are worse than the campers.”

Jester grinned at Beau, and then turned to continue trailing Fjord down the hill to the main hall.

The three of them had met at the initial safety training seminar about a month ago, and decided, given their geographic similarity, to carpool to camp. Beau still wasn’t sure if that had been a good idea, but Jester’s running commentary had certainly stopped her dozing off, even with the disgustingly early start.

It was just past noon now, and Beau could see a number of other people sitting on benches or the grass eating home-packed lunches. The first meal provided, the email had said in no uncertain terms, would be dinner tonight. A few of these people already caught Beau’s eye, seeming not to be immediately boring. Off to one side was an ostentatious man with purple hair and multiple visible tattoos chatting with an amazonian woman with dark hair ending in white tips. A slight and very young looking woman with a tuft if green hair was leaning against the building itself and working her way through a packet of salami with startling speed. The man sitting at her feet was either unphased or simply didn’t notice with how far his head was stuck into his book.

The woman with the white-tipped hair was twirling a butterfly knife as she and the tattooed man talked, and Beau couldn’t help but be impressed. While everyone, including the tattooed man, at least gave Beau and her companions a cursory glance as they signed in, this woman just kept talking and flipping her blade absentmindedly.

Just as Beau finished donning the lanyard that Fjord had spotted for her, Gustav emerged from the building. He immediately spotted the knife-wielding woman and called out, “Yasha? Really? A knife?”

Yasha flicked the knife back into its closed position. “It is a knife, yes.”

Gustav pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you accidentally stab a camper, it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Yasha flipped the knife open and closed a final time, smile playing on her lips. “Seems reasonable enough. I am not intending to stab any campers though, just to skin squirrels.”

“Well, you know, keep that nonsense away from the campers as well.”

“As you wish.”

The green haired woman, now finished with her salami, tapped the man on the ground with the toe of her shoe. Startled, he closed his book and stood up and as he did, a lighter dropped from his pocket. Beau swooped down and picked it up. The green haired woman eyed her suspiciously, and as Beau held out the lighter she snatched it back.

“Caleb, you dropped this,” she said, not taking her eyes off Beau. Caleb took and stuffed the lighter back in his pocket.

Beau quickly glanced at the lanyard around the young woman’s neck. _Nott_ , it read. Beau was about to open her mouth and say something, perhaps even introduce herself, but Nott brushed past her and headed into the mess hall. Caleb trailed her.

Beau heard an exasperated sigh from the doorway behind her. She turned to see Nott slipping past Norda, who looked almost as unimpressed with Nott as she had always looked with Beau. Norda had been a counsellor since Beau was a camper. One day she would make good on her threat to retire, but not before Gustav did.

“Norda, congratulations on the directorship,” Beau said, gesturing to the role on Norda’s nametag.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Beauregard,” retorted Norda.

“Cool,” said Beau.

Norda’s eyes tracked across the thirty-odd counsellors before her. “Why do none of you have normal hair colours?” she muttered.

As if he had perhaps heard her words, the purple-haired man across the way waved to Norda. Norda pursed her lips and waved back, before clapping her hands together loudly. “Alright everyone!” she said, at full volume this time, “If you could come into the hall now, we’re going to have a full staff meeting before we start set-up. You can line your bags up against the wall inside.”

Jester appeared behind Beau. “If she doesn’t want counsellors with bright hair, she shouldn’t hire counsellors with bright hair,” Jester said, and Beau could see by the way she was self-consciously touching her own bright blue hair that she was hurt.

Beau shrugged, picking up her duffle bag. “It’s just Norda letting off some steam. If she’s actually upset and not just complaining, you’ll know, trust me.” Beau and Jester joined the slow trickle into the hall and Beau dropped her voice, “Anyway, this place can’t afford not to hire people unless they’re completely incompetent or have some sort of criminal record.”

“Now I hardly think that’s fair,” said a voice beside Beau, making her jump. A man with slicked back, blue hair that was a surprisingly similar shade to Jester’s smiled painfully at the two of them. “We hired you, after all.”

Beau frowned. _The Gentleman_ , his nametag read, _Director_. Staff and campers had preferred names written on their lanyards, but Beau had never seen a staff member take advantage of it quite like that.

“I’m kidding, of course. Don’t look so serious… Beau, is it?” The Gentleman read her nametag in turn. “Although if you do have a criminal record or consider yourself incompetent, please do let myself or another director know.”

“Insulting a staff member the first time you meet them is a strong opening,” said Beau.

The Gentleman shrugged. “You looked like the type who could take it.”

Beau said nothing is return, but was somewhat pleased by this observation. Certainly enough to drop the subject.

“I’m Jester,” said Jester.

The Gentleman shook Jester’s outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jester.”

“Do you want a lollipop?” said Jester, pulling one from her violently pink bag.

The Gentleman declined with a hand wave. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to assist the other directors,” he said, before slipping away.

“He seems weird,” Jester said pleasantly, throwing her bag against the wall with the others.

Fjord waved to Jester and Beau as they made their way to the rows of seats that had been cannibalised from the normal dining room set-up. Nott and Caleb were sitting directly in front. Caleb, notebook open on his lap, twirled his pencil between his fingers. Jester looked at Beau and then at him, and then retrieved a lollipop from her bag and started to twirl it in the same way.

Beau noticed Yasha out of the corner of her eye watching Jester’s display. Beau half expected her to retrieve the knife and join in, but instead she just watched, her expression unreadable.

There were four directors standing on the slightly raised platform before them all. Norda, The Gentleman, Gustav, and someone Beau didn’t recognise but whose nametag read Bryce. Norda, apparently deciding that enough of the stragglers had made their way in, began to address the crowd.

“Now, you all have done training sometime in the past three months. This meeting is to _refresh_ , but I hope none of this is new information to any of you.

“Today is _Monday_. Campers arrive on _Sunday_. We expect you to have all of your preparations for the following nine weeks adequately complete by the time campers arrive. While there will be some teambuilding activities this week, it is not a social week.

“To re-iterate,” Norda continued, “leaders on this camp will be part of three distinct teams. Firstly, you and a leader of the opposite sex will be paired up to lead an individual team of campers. There will be about twelve campers to a team, give or take. I will give you further details about your particular campers in a minute, but please keep in mind that when you are with your campers, you need to remain in sight distance of another leader, preferably one of the opposite sex. So, if Timmy falls down and breaks his arm, and one of the two of you needs to take him to first aid, the remaining leader should find another group and conduct their team’s activities within sightlines of that group. Understood?”

There was a smattering of nods and bored mutters of agreement.

The Gentleman jumped in. “Your second pairing will be your roommate. Each cabin has a two-person room on either end, with around twenty-four campers bunking across the two dorms in between. Your cabinmate and-slash-or roommate may be a non-leader staff member such as a director, cook, or support leader. Please do not be having sex in the cabins. It is against employee policy, makes everyone uncomfortable, and may be witnessed by a camper. Also, do keep in mind that having a debaucherous night of carnal pleasures with no sleep will not be a viable excuse for underperforming your duty of care the next day.”

Norda shot The Gentleman a look, and in that time Gustav jumped in to finishing off. “Finally, we have your debrief groups. Debrief groups will be led by either a director or a veteran team leader, and will not include either your teammates, roommates, or cabinmates. These groups took me a long time to work out on the spreadsheet, so please do not request a change unless someone has done something to you that you are willing to open an incident report about. Also, debrief groups should actually be used to debrief about your day and should not turn into bitch-fests about how much you hate your coleader or roommate. But I know that’s what always happens anyway, so just try not to be so loud that the other person can hear you from their debrief.”

Norda, trying to resume control, clapped her hands together again. “Any questions?”

Jester put her hand up. “Jester, you don’t have to put your hand up, you can just shout out the question,” said Norda.

“What if you need to pee while you’re with the campers? Do you have to relocate the entire group to where they can be seen just so you can run off for two minutes?”

Fjord cleared his throat and Norda gestured for him to go ahead. “Yeah, you will need to relocate the group, but might I recommend taking a bathroom break at the same time your campers do to minimise the suffering.”

“Do try to pee though,” Beau said, “getting a UTI makes you really feel the whole nine weeks. Better to relocate the group and have the kids whine.”

Jester nodded to the both of them.

Yasha raised her hand. Norda sighed. “Again, Yasha, you can just shout that question out. We are adults here, we can make that work.”

“Ah, yes. What about for our days off? Who will watch the kids?”

Norda nodded, apparently pleased by the question. “For leaders such as yourself, you will be assigned one of the weekdays every week that you and your coleader with have off, starting 10pm the night prior and going until 10pm that next day. On that day, teams with absent leaders will have special activities rotation together, supervised by directors, support leaders, and any specialty staff needed to run the activity.”

Jester raised her hand again. “Please, Jester, just ask your question,” said Norda.

Jester put her hand down. “What’s for dinner?”

Norda sighed. Beau considered that she might have to start a tally of director sighs, or possibly a drinking game. “I don’t know,” said Norda, “But the next person who asks me is getting bread and water.”

Jester pouted. Norda starred into the middle distance for just a second too long, before she announced to no one in particular, “We’re going to hand out assignments and schedules now.”

There was a few minutes of kerfuffle as the labelled clipboards where distributed to their owners. Beau cracked hers open, flipping past her personal and team chore schedule to the page that really mattered.

_Cabin: 2A_

_Cabinmate: Jester_

_Coleader: Caleb W._

_Debrief Team Leader: Norda_

_Day off: Tuesday_

Beau had no sooner taken in her own page than Jester had excitedly started tapping her on the leg. Jester showed Beau her own clipboard. “We’re roommates!” she said. Beau couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “And I got Tuesdays,” Jester continued, “What did you get?”

“The same,” said Beau.

“No way!” said Jester, “Fjord is my co-leader, so he has Tuesdays as well!”

Caleb, apparently tuned into the commotion behind him, craned his neck around. “We also have Tuesdays.” He gestured to himself and Nott, who continued to look antsy. “And you are Beau, yes?”

Beau nodded. “You must be Caleb W. then.” Caleb nodded in return.

Jester and Fjord joined in a round of introductions, until the five of them were all acquainted. As they did so, Yasha and the purple-haired man approached. The latter held up his clipboard and pointed to the relevant line. _Tuesday_.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that all of those with Tuesday were apparently sitting over here.” He sat himself backwards on a chair. “I’m Mollymauk, or just Molly is fine.” He flashed his nametag, as if that needed confirmation.

“Yasha,” said Yasha from a slight distance with a slighter wave.

This triggered another round of introductions, and Beau even managed to make eye contact with Yasha when her turn came without making a complete fool out of herself. She would call that her major win for the day.

The seven of them turned back to their chore pages, spending a few minutes comparing and commiserating. Eventually, the directors began shepherding staff out of the mess hall to go make their cabins hospitable. It was only as Jester shrugged her bag over her shoulder and reached out a hand to Beau, ready to be led to the cabin, that Beau fully took in _that_ reality as well. Jester was, you know, a lot, and it was her first time leading on camp. But she also seemed whip-smart when it came down to it, and Beau would have been lying if she didn’t think she was pretty.

 _You dumb lesbian_ , Beau chided herself. She had been at camp all of an hour and had already gone girl-crazy. As Beau and Jester descended the hill to the second row of cabins, Beau vowed that no matter what happen in the next ten weeks, she was going to keep herself strictly professional. Which, in hindsight, was a troubling thing to need to promise herself at all.


	2. Unpacking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's me, back one day later. Please do not develop expectations, I will only disappoint. :-P This chapter only got written this fast because I didn't want to do uni work.

As Jester and Beau descended the hill, Jester could see the rows of elongated cabins, each inset with six windows. The path they were on split each pair of identically coloured cabins. Closest to the top they were painted red, then yellow, then green, then blue. The colours seemed to have faded slightly over the years, and the cabins were all trimmed with peeling white paint.

Beau pointed to one side. “Girls on the right,” she said, adjusting their course.

As they mounted the veranda Jester could see that, as promised, the cabins boasted four rooms: two larger in the middle and two smaller on the outside.

“They’re alphabetised left to right as you look up the hill. Don’t ask me why,” said Beau, making her way across the veranda. “I guess it makes more sense on the boys’ side.”

“Girls’ side, boys’ side. Must make it difficult on Bryce,” said Jester.

“How do you mean?”

Jester shrugged. “They didn’t seem the type to fit either of those.”

Beau seemed to turn that over in her head for a moment, before she said, “Well, at least they would be getting a solo director’s cabin, up next to the hall.”

That did bring Jester some comfort. “Cool,” she said.

Beau pulled open the door furthest from the path and swept her hand out to Jester dramatically. “Cabin 2A, ma’am,” said Beau.

Excited to have first pick, Jester quickly threw her bag onto the bed on the right.

Beau stood in the doorway, hand on one hip to counterbalance the duffle on her other shoulder. “Oof, rookie error,” she teased, tossing her own bag onto the other bed. “That’s the side where the kids are.”

The room was small, and while it had obviously been cleaned before the staff arrival, it had definitely seen better days. There was a chest of drawers at the end of either bed, the drawers of each facing inwards towards each other. There were also some misaligned clothes hooks screwed into the walls, a single powerpoint on Jester’s side, and two small metal fans that hung angled between the top of the wall and the ceiling, pointed at either bed.

Beau immediately pulled on the chain attached to her fan, and it began to whir to life in its cage. “They only installed the fans before my last year as a camper,” she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard above noise. “They’re a godsend, especially when you get to be a leader who needs to block out the noise of kids pretending to sleep.”

“How many years did you have as a camper?” said Jester.

Jester watched as Beau immediately unzipped her duffle bag and turned it upside-down to empty the entire contents onto her bed. “When I was twelve, thirteen and fourteen, if I remember right,” she said, “so, three. And then martial arts camp until I finished school.”

“That’s a lot of camps,” said Jester. “I don’t know if I even spent a night away from my mom before I was sixteen.”

Beau shrugged. “Yeah, well, they didn’t exactly want me at home, and they had the wherewithal to keep me out of their hair year-round. Just throw my boarding school crap into my bag and head to camp, and then throw it back in when we were done and head back to school.”

Jester felt her heart ache in her chest as she watched Beau pick through her belongings on the bed. Beau turned back to her and, seeing Jester’s face, rolled her eyes. “Don’t look like that. They sent me away for a reason. I was a little shit back then, but I had teachers who, yah know, helped bring out my potential or whatever. So, happy ending.”

Jester wasn’t convinced, but she certainly didn’t know Beau well enough to press the topic any further. Besides, Beau had already started throwing clothes into her drawers, and Jester hastily began to unpack herself, lest she be left behind.

They worked in silence for a while, Jester mutely struggling to compact her belongings into the drawers and questionable hooks available. Beau eventually broke the silence. “I reckon we make the door signs next,” she said, shoving the empty duffle bag into the storage cubby under her bed. “Before we lose the daylight.”

“Door signs?”

Beau nodded, pulling the last corner of her fitted sheet into place and throwing her quilt over the top. “I mean, we have until _Sunday_ ,” she said, copying Norda’s intonation perfectly and making Jester giggle lightly, “But if we start now then we can take our time. Yellow row is ten- and eleven-year-olds, so they are both young and old enough appreciate when you decorate well. Do you need help with that?” Beau pointed to Jester’s own fitted sheet, which had been slipping off the mattress no matter what she did.

Jester made a noncommittal noise. On the one hand, she was indeed struggling, and it felt childish to reject help when she clearly needed it. On the other hand, she really wanted Beau to like her, and she felt like being too naïve to even make a bed properly was a real point in the red for that.

Beau was so cool, so confident with all this. She had been coming on camps since she was a preteen. She had driven them in her beat up, second-hand car for the full six hours without so much as a glance at a map (much to Fjord’s dismay). She was like a monk, able to throw her life into a duffle bag and just go where she needed to go.

Beau shoved Jester lightly out of the way, taking the corners of the sheet out of Jester’s hands. Mercifully, Beau began struggling with the sheet as much as Jester had been. “This thing has no give. Is it new?” said Beau. Jester nodded in response, resisting the urge to bite her thumb cuticle nervously as she watched Beau. “No wonder. These mattresses are a weird size, the fabric needs a little bit of give to actually fit.”

“I didn’t know,” mumbled Jester.

“Not your fault, it’s not exactly a feature they put in the brochures for this place,” said Beau, balling up the sheet with a light air of frustration. She threw it to Jester before walking over and pulling something out of her bottom dresser drawer. “I’ll use my spare sheet, okay?”

Jester held her sheet to her chest. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

Beau laughed and pulled an incredulous face. “I’ve washed it, I promise,” she said, flicking the sheet open.

Jester took a step back to avoid the sheet. “But it’s your spare one,” Jester insisted.

Beau shook her head. “Well, I promise to not wet the bed this camp, and that way I won’t need it,” she said with a strong cut of sarcasm in her voice, which made Jester clutch the rejected sheet still closer to herself.

“Maybe I’ll stick your hand in a bowl of warm water. Then what?” challenged Jester.

That drew a look of confusion from Beau. Unsure how to proceed, Jester tried to continue looking serious, tilting her head to one side and really boring her eyes in Beau. To Jester’s dismay, Beau started laughing, and with another flick folded the sheet back in half and draped it over her arm. “Alright, if you really don’t want the sheet, we can use your flat sheet and do hospital corners,” Beau said, pointing to the rest of Jester’s linen set.

Jester held her breath silently for a moment. Beau’s brain took a second to tick over.

“You don’t know how to make a bed with a flat sheet, do you?”

Jester truly wanted to die. She nodded slowly. “That’s so dumb, right?”

Beau shrugged, apparently unphased. “Not all of us went to weird strict boarding schools,” she said, “But I am showing you how to do it exactly once, and then you’re on your own. I’ve done enough hospital corners to last a lifetime.”

Jester watched Beau billow the flat sheet across the bed and begin to straighten and lift and tuck until she had an impossibly neat and tightly made bed. Jester tried not to look intimidated, but even if she would be nowhere near as good, she was fairly sure that she’d gotten the general gist of it. Man, though, was it impressive.

Beau caught Jester’s admiring look and her eyes suddenly sparkled. “Blanket? Quilt? Pillows?” Beau urged her. Jester procured the bedding from the pile on the floor where she had thrown them in frustration and handed them over.

Beau was efficient now, clearly not slowing herself down to make her actions clear or moving her body so that she wasn’t blocking Jester’s view as she worked. She lay out the blanket, folded it down, and did more corners at the bottom. She placed the pillows on top of each other, and then threw the quilt over the top of it all, finishing with four more corners.

Beau stepped back and looked to her roommate proudly, and if Jester wasn’t mistaken, Beau may even have been slightly out of breath. “Pretty sexy, right?” said Beau.

 _Very_ , Jester wanted to say. “It looks like a hotel,” she said instead.

Beau crossed her arms and appeared to give herself another three seconds of self-satisfaction, before she picked up the spare sheet and folded it back up. Instead of placing it in her drawer, however, she set it on top of Jester’s dresser. “I give you three days before you get sick of fixing that bottom sheet,” said Beau, her eyes sparkling again.

Jester knew a challenge when she heard one, but she also knew better than to try Beau on what was clearly her home turf. “What were you saying before about door signs?” said Jester.

Beau gestured for Jester to pass her the ill-fitting sheet, and Jester obliged her. “Every camp, we make these signs on some cardboard to hang on the cabin doors. You know, a “Who lives here?” type of sign.” Beau placed the folded sheet inside Jester’s empty bag. “I mean, there’s no reason you can’t just list everyone’s names in sharpie, but where’s the fun in that? And you paint, right?”

Jester’s chest buzzed knowing that Beau had remembered. “Yes!”

“Great! Then I can lead creative direction, and you can do the actual work so that it looks good!” Beau was already halfway out the door, and Jester found herself trailing like a puppy behind her. “I’m thinking we could just do some nice generic plant and flower designs for 2B, and you know, a little of our personalities into our sign. Just some symbols for that first week and a half where none of the campers can keep the leaders’ names straight. I also think-”

Beau seemed almost to be sprinting up the hill and, between the warm static in her brain and her own breath in her ears, Jester could no longer make out what Beau was saying. But Jester was grinning anyway, her worry about all these new experiences giving way to the elation of human connection.

Jester lowered her head and charged after Beau, already scripting in her head how she might convince Beau to change her boring flower plan to something more fun, like characters from fairytales, or maybe just some friendly-looking wolves.


	3. Door Signs

Yasha watched curiously as Beau and Jester made their way up the hill at full pelt. There was no reason to run, no real urgency to today or the next few days. Did they understand that they would have plenty of running to do in the next nine weeks? Did they care?

The sun was meandering towards the horizon now, filling the campsite with long, flat shadows. The light that continued to peak over the main hall shone directly into Yasha’s eyes, causing her to squint and quickly lose track of the two women once they darted under the shaded walkway running alongside said hall.

They reappeared again soon enough, Jester carrying a few pieces of salvaged cardboard and Beau a tub filled with cheap acrylic paints. They sat themselves on the grass, Beau leaning back on her hands to watch Jester’s fervour from a safe distance. Could she go up there and talk to them? _Should_ she go up there and talk to them?

Jester already had paint on her nose.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Molly, sidling up next to Yasha.

“Hmm?” said Yasha distractedly.

Molly leant in to follow Yasha’s eyeline up the hill. He smirked. “Which one do you like, angry or ditzy?”

Yasha smacked his sternum with the back of her hand, forcing him to punctuate the beginning of his laughter with a violent cough. “Sorry!” she said, instantly withdrawing her hand, “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“Well, if you don’t know your own strength, you may want to go with angry,” said Molly with a devilish grin. “But you know, the sweet one might make an honest woman out of you yet, soothe the savage beast, so to speak.”

Yasha smacked him again.

“Alright,” spluttered Molly, “A sensitive topic. Point taken.”

Yasha turned back to her people-watching. The paint was gone from Jester’s nose, but Yasha had missed who had removed it. “They seem nice,” she said to Molly.

“I see, that’s why you always stand at least five feet away from them, is it?”

“I need a little time to warm up,” said Yasha, folding her arms.

“Honey, leftover pizza needs a little time to warm up. You’re an entire frozen chicken sitting in the sink,” said Molly.

Yasha didn’t deign to respond.

Molly sighed, leaning his back against the green wall so he was facing the same directions as Yasha. “Are you going to be okay when the campers get here?” he asked softly.

“I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?” said Yasha.

“Dodging the question,” said Molly.

Yasha frowned. “Children make a lot more sense, sometimes. The rules are clearer, they tell you upfront what they want.” Yasha turned her head and gave Molly just the hint of a smile. “You can also physically overpower them if you need to.”

“Oh! A joke!” gasped Molly. “I misread the entire mood of this conversation.”

“It’s not a joke, I could fight any camper I chose.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so merciful, then,” said Molly. Yasha nodded with mock sageness.

They stood there is silence for a little while. It was nice, with the chaos around, to have Molly there to centre her. He was the kind of guy who didn’t ask unnecessary questions and didn’t give unnecessary answers. He had, unlike almost any other person Yasha had met in the past couple of years, shown not a speck of interest in anything other than who and how Yasha was right now.

“Okay, I’m calling it. You have to go play with the other kids now,” declared Molly. He didn’t move except to give Yasha a look.

Maybe Molly was that compelling, or maybe Yasha was simply giving in to her subconscious desire to make her way up that hill, but regardless she found herself pushing away from the wall and wandering tentatively up the path.

She stopped in line with the red cabins and gave a final look back at Molly. He gave her two thumbs up.

“Oh, hey Yasha,” said Beau, as Yasha hit the flat of grass in front of the hall.

“Hi,” said Yasha.

A pause.

“We’re making signs for the doors,” Jester offered.

“Cool,” said Yasha.

“Want to see?” said Jester.

“Yes,” said Yasha.

Yasha squatted down to inspect the cardboard. To her moderate surprise, there was decent craftsmanship to it, given the available materials. The image was a semi-abstract interlocking of flowers and leaves, with fuzzy, obscured creatures just out of reach behind them.

“Do you like it?” said Jester.

“Yes,” said Yasha.

“Good,” said Jester with a smile. She then stuck her tongue out at Beau.

“Hey, I think it looks great,” said Beau defensively. “I just don’t want you to come crying to me when the kids ruin half the picture writing their names.”

“Fine, I’ll make a new one,” said Jester. She held the cardboard out to Yasha, “Do you want this?”

Yasha took the painting wordlessly, and with a satisfied hum Jester began painting a new piece of cardboard with the same pattern, but this time just along the border.

“Have you made your door sign yet?” said Beau. Yasha shook her head. “Pull up a patch of grass, then,” insisted Beau, shifting to one side.

Yasha sat, her heart suddenly thumping as she realised that she would probably have to paint something. She wasn’t a particularly bad artist, but Jester was… wow.

“Who are you rooming with?” said Beau.

“Nott,” said Yasha.

“You don’t say much, do you?” said Jester. Beau kicked her lightly in the back. Instinctively, Yasha reached out and brushed off the dead grass the shoe had left behind.

Yasha immediately felt her heart speed up even more, although neither of the other women seemed to blink at her actions. Yasha thrust her hand into her pocket and gripped The Magician’s Judge.

“I think I say what needs saying,” said Yasha. She squeezed the balisong, trying to slow her heart. She was fine. She was doing perfectly fine. She was talking to people- to cool, confident people- and it was going fine.

“Nott’s the one with the green hair, right?” said Beau.

“Yes,” said Yasha. And then, with Jester’s comment on her mind, she added, “She gave me some of her jerky.”

Beau nodded. “Was it, uh, good?”

“It was alright.”

There was another silence, in which Yasha began considering her options regarding the door sign. Licking her lips, she pulled The Magician’s Judge out of her pocket and opened it.

“Cool knife,” said Beau.

“Thank you,” said Yasha.

“Did it take you long to learn how to do that?” Beau said, rolling her wrist to indicate flipping the knife.

Yasha closed the knife and then opened it again using the sidekick combo. Beau looked excessively impressed for a beginner trick, although Yasha supposed Beau had no way of knowing that was what it was. Regardless, Yasha briefly flushed with pride.

“Yes, it did,” said Yasha.

“Do you think you could teach me?” said Beau.

Yasha shrugged. “I have my training knife back in my cabin if you ever want to use it.”

“Couldn’t just start with a normal knife?” said Beau.

Yasha shook her head emphatically. “Not if you want to keep your fingers.”

Beau immediately looked embarrassed and Yasha’s stomach dropped. Had she said something wrong? She didn’t think so, but sometimes it was hard to tell.

At that lull in the conversation, Yasha turned her attention to the painted carboard and, as delicately as she could, began tracing the outlines of letters in the acrylic with the tip of the knife. Y-a-s-h-a.

When she was satisfied with the template she had made for herself, Yasha began to cut the letters out with her knife. Beau watched on curiously, and after a few minutes Jester looked up from her work as well.

“That looks really pretty, Yasha,” said Jester. Yasha smiled softly, laying the letters out in order. Leaning her whole body, she reached out to one side and plucked a still-yellow dandelion from the grass. She made a small puncture in the top-left corner of the ‘Y’ and threaded the flower through, knotting the stem tightly to hold it in place.

“You didn’t strike me as a flowers type of girl,” said Beau.

Yasha shut and stowed The Magician’s Judge. “Well, you’ve only just met me. There’s a lot you don’t know yet,” said Yasha. It wasn’t meant as an admonishment or anything, but Beau looked away. Perhaps she was just easily embarrassed.

Yasha collected the letters and stood to leave. “Thank you for the painting, Jester,” she said.

“You’re welcome!” said Jester, smiling widely.

Yasha turned to leave. “Wait!” said Beau. Yasha turned back around. “Do you need some blu-tack to put the letters up?”

“Oh, yes, probably,” said Yasha.

Beau fossicked in the art supplies box for a few seconds, before victoriously withdrawing a small wad of adhesive. Yasha took it from her with her free hand. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” said Beau. Yasha pinched the blu-tack tightly and turned away once more.

When Yasha made it back to her cabin she saw that Nott had left the door open and was laid out on her bed. She seemed to have set out a selection of interesting rocks in a line alongside her, but Yasha opted not enquire.

“I made a name sign, but just for me,” said Yasha slowly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d prefer to make my own anyway,” said Nott.

“Can I close the door to put it up?” said Yasha.

“Go for it,” said Nott.

Yasha closed to door and carefully adhered the letters, being sure to leave space underneath for whatever Nott decided to make. She then opened the door again. “I did it,” she said.

“Good for you,” said Nott, slightly confused.

Yasha leant against the doorframe. “You can come in if you like,” said Nott, “I don’t bite. Most of the time.”

“Oh, I just don’t like enclosed spaces that much,” said Yasha.

“Sure,” said Nott.

The two women lapsed into silence, neither of them particularly equipped to break it.

“So, how do you know Caleb?” Yasha said, after a minute of brainstorming.

“Oh, we go back,” said Nott. “What about you and Molly?”

“We go back,” Yasha parroted.

Nott exhaled loudly. She began to collect the rocks into a drawstring bag. “I saw a shoe in a tree on my way down here. I was going to throw things at it until it fell down, or until Caleb finishes unpacking. Do you want to come?” she said.

“Okay,” said Yasha. It sounded like the perfect way to relax and recover.

And so, they went.


	4. Leader Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! :-D
> 
> A slightly longer chapter this time to atone for my sins, but also because I never know quite when to wrap so I can switch POV. Also, I accidentally read three different spoilers on the wikis while writing this, but that's the price you pay for art, I guess.
> 
> I can feel in my bones that I will have to retcon/backedit at least one of the declared professions for the team at some point, so once again please forgive me because as of publishing this I am an hour into Ep. 34.
> 
> Okay, thank you all again, and hope you enjoy!

“HEY!” said Fjord, clapping his hands loudly.

Beau opened one eye and saw Fjord standing beside where she lay in the grass, yelling at someone down the hill. Beau sat up for a better view, and quickly spotted Yasha and Nott standing around a tree below the final pair of cabins. Nott had turned in the direction of the reprimand, and although Beau couldn’t be entirely sure from this distance, it seemed like she was already preparing to scatter. Yasha, on the other hand, threw a rock into the branches of the tree, and Fjord responded by clapping his hands again. This finally made Yasha wheel around as well.

“Knock that out!” Fjord called down to them.

Nott took off running.

“Yes, that’s what we’re trying to do!” yelled Yasha back up. Nott faltered for a moment to let out a squawk of laughter, before she picked up pace again and disappeared behind the blue cabins. Yasha looked after Nott, confused.

“What’s going on?” said Beau to Fjord.

“Those two dumbasses were throwing things at a tree,” said Fjord.

Beau shook her head. “Now Fjord, remember that on camp we talk about bad behaviour, not bad character,” said Beau, “Yasha and Nott were _acting like dumbasses_. And throwing things at a tree.”

Fjord looked at Beau with a tired defeat that it normally took her weeks to manufacture. Maybe she had already worn him down too much during the car ride.

“Don’t fall asleep in the sun, it’s bad for your skin,” said Fjord, by way of reply. “There’s a leader meeting inside in ten, make sure Jester knows.”

“You’re really the fun police this afternoon, aren’t you?” said Beau.

“LEADER MEETING IN TEN, YASHA!” yelled Fjord over his shoulder, already walking away.

“Okay!” Yasha called back, giving double thumbs up. Beau couldn’t help but let a small smile escape at Yasha’s earnest, even if Fjord clearly didn’t appreciate it.

Yasha began towards the hall. As she did, Nott reappeared in the background, making a running beeline for the green boy’s cabin. Presumably, Nott was looking for Caleb, given she was loudly calling to him as she ran.

Back on top of the hill, Jester rounded the corner, returning from the bathrooms attached to the main hall. As Jester shook the last of the moisture off her hands- the hand-dryers in those bathrooms had been broken for as long as Beau could remember- Beau noticed a small bracelet of dandelions on Jester’s wrist. She must have made it while Beau was dozing.

“What’s happening?” said Jester, likely confused by the sudden uptake in yelling.

“Fjord says there’s a leader meeting in ten,” said Beau. “Well, actually more like eight, now.”

“Okay,” said Jester. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

“I was just relaxing,” said Beau, trying not to sound defensive.

“With your eyes closed?”

“Yeah.”

Jester smiled mischievously. “Okay,” she said, elongating the word slightly this time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Beau.

“How am I looking at you?” said Jester, still all smiles. Beau just shook her head.

Jester offered Beau a hand to stand, which Beau took. Beau did her best to look begrudging, but Jester’s strength took her by surprise and she nearly overbalanced. Beau caught herself quickly, but the damage to her pride was already done, as Yasha had just crested the hill as this all unfolded.

“Yasha!” cried Jester, lighting up even more than she did teasing Beau.

“Hello again, Jester,” said Yasha, her expression mysterious as ever.

“Do you want to see the finished signs?” said Jester. Yasha gave a single, stoic nod.

Beau was uninvited, but regardless followed the two of them over to where the cardboard signs were drying. One was bordered with intricate renditions of what appeared to be as many yellow items as Jester could think of- a highlighter, a sunflower, a lemon, on and on without repeats. Inside this frame Jester had neatly ruled and numbered lines for the twelve girls to write their names on. The other was bordered with the flower pattern Jester had previously attempted. Inside she had inked “Jester and Beau Live Here” in neat, looping, calligraphic letters.

“I thought you were using the flowers for the kids,” said Beau.

“Well, I figured since you liked the pattern so much, we should use it for our door.” Jester seemed testy, possibly accusatory, which was frustrating because Beau sincerely like the design. She had said as much, repeatedly!

“Good. Because I do like it,” said Beau, cringing internally at how the words sounded out loud, and the slump they garnered from Jester.

Mercifully, Yasha swooped in to save them. “I really like the canary,” she said, hovering a black nail delicately above the swirling acrylic. Jester immediately reinflated and began chattering out a guided tour of the entire yellow sign. Beau listened silently, torn between gratitude and admiration for Yasha’s careful words, and a ridiculous, newly-infatuated jealousy at the ease between her and Jester.

Not that Yasha was saying much more than Beau. Just the occasional nod, an affirmative murmur or single word interjection. Beau knew somehow that the same sort of reactions from her would have seemed sarcastic or condescending, and decided in that moment to settle on jealousy.

As Beau looked up from her contemplation, she found herself surprisingly close to a pair of incongruently coloured eyes. How had she not noticed that Yasha’s eyes were two different colours until now? _Oh, is it because you can’t make direct eye contact with a beautiful woman to save yourself_? _Is that it?_ thought Beau.

“Right, Beau?” said Yasha, as if she was repeating herself.

Beau tensed. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” she said. She really was sorry too, or she wouldn’t have said so.

“Beau was brooding. She does that,” said Jester, and Yasha nodded seriously. “Yasha thinks we should probably go inside now,” Jester added pointedly.

“Oh, yeah, probably.”

Yasha looked at Beau with puzzlement as Jester opted to flounce past them both into the hall. Yasha opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Ever the enigma.

“Your eyes are… that’s pretty cool,” said Beau.

“Oh, thank you. It’s called heterochromia,” said Yasha. She paused for perhaps half a second before blurting, “It’s genetic!”

Yasha looked to Beau expectantly, a poor choice for maintaining conversation flow. “Alright,” offered Beau with a nod, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Yasha paused for another half-second, dropped her shoulders with an exhale and said, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“When did you offend me?” said Beau. Yasha looked startled, and Beau held a hand up in reassurance. “Whatever you did, I’m sure whatever reaction I had was just _brooding_.” Beau forced a tight smile. “Jester’s right, I do that sometimes.”

For a fleeting moment Yasha’s expression changed to one of concentration, like she was trying desperately to remember something. She then settled, and said “Do you and Jester go back?”

“Do we go back where?” said Beau.

Yasha opened her mouth and closed it again. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Jester and I only met like, a month ago,” said Beau, “if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s, uh, _sociable_ , and we had a long car ride here, so it feels longer.”

“I see,” said Yasha.

Beau once again remembered that they were supposed to be in the hall by now (largely because Fjord started yelling at them through the window to come inside), but she had to delay a few more seconds to ask: “What about you and Molly?”

“We met more than a month ago,” said Yasha, her head turning to Fjord. “I think we should go, if we want to keep our jobs.”

“Fjord can’t fire us,” said Beau, as they traversed the few metres to the doorway.

“I can kill you though. Or put a fish in your towel,” Fjord hissed as Beau passed him, although from his tone and the second threat he didn’t actually strike Beau as particularly angry.

Across the other side of the room, Norda was standing to face the rest of the leaders. She was slightly more pissed than usual. “You ladies took your sweet time. Please, join us, it’s not like we had anything better to do than wait for you.”

Beau generously bit her tongue on that one, partially because she was (for once) actually to blame for the actual tardiness of which she was being accused, partially because she didn’t want to lose her job, and partially because she didn’t want to come off as a brat with either Yasha or Jester present.

Yasha and Beau hurriedly joined the group, and Norda swept her arms out to the menagerie before her. “Alright, everyone! I’m not going to stick around to facilitate, but I’d like you to all to divide into your day-off groups. I’ve tried to nominate a group leader who seemed competent, and while no offence was intended, do feel free to take it personally if I didn’t select you.” Everyone seemed unsure whether or not Norda was joking on that last point, although her disappointed reaction to their collective muteness suggested she probably was.

As the pack of leaders dissipated, the seven members of the Tuesday group convened at the table closest to the door. Fjord wave a printed list of instructions as he sat down.

“It says here that we should go around and say our names,” said Fjord. “I’m Fjord.”

“I’m Yasha.”

“I’m Molly.”

“I’m Nott.”

“We’ve all already introduced ourselves, this is dumb.”

“I’m Caleb.”

“I’m Fiona,” said Jester with a giggle.

“Seriously, that doesn’t work if you’ve already introduced yourself,” said Beau.

“I’m sensing that Miss Beau is trying to tell us that she doesn’t play well with others,” said Molly. He paused to peer over Fjord’s shoulder at what seemed to be an extensive list of icebreaker activities, and poked his finger at a particular item. “So that’s one of the three fun facts she has to tell us out of the way.”

Beau flipped Molly the bird, and he looked oddly delighted.

Fjord massaged the bridge of his nose. “Guys, I am in no way trying to assert myself as any sort of group leader, but I do have the piece of paper from Norda and I would love to keep this all moving.”

“What’s next on the list?” said Nott, who seemed equally keen to get it all over with.

“Uh, three facts… well, Molly’s made that a timebomb already, so let’s skip to… ‘Share a little bit about your life outside camp.’ Alright, someone start.”

There was a silence. Caleb eventually raised a hand. “I am working on my PhD,” he offered.

“Explains why you look like you haven’t slept in months,” said Molly. Nott shot Molly a look, but Caleb gave an accepting shrug.

“What’s your area?” said Jester.

“Chemistry,” said Caleb.

“Any particular area within chemistry?” asked Fjord.

“Yes,” said Caleb. “Someone else can go now.”

Beau gave a long sigh. “I’m also a student,” she said, “Undergrad. Also very tired, but slightly less justified.”

“What degree?” prompted Fjord.

“Sports science,” said Beau, before immediately turning to Caleb, “Don’t say anything, chemistry boy.”

“Why would I say anything? Sports science, studied at a reputable institution, is both a legitimate and valuable field.”

“Oh. Well, my teachers wanted me to go into bibliothecography, but I live to disappoint,” said Beau. Caleb’s ears immediately perked up, and Beau realised she probably should have saved her shut down line for the book-adjacent sentence.

“Psychology!” yelled Jester, fortunately stoping Caleb before he’d started.

“You’re studying psychology, you mean?” said Nott.

“Yes!” said Jester, “Sorry, I got excited.”

“You guys are all nerds,” said Molly. “Personally, I woke up two years ago buried in a fresh grave with no memory of who I was before. I’ve mostly been doing temp work since then.”

Fjord sighed. “Alright Molly, let’s all agree that if we don’t want to answer, we can just say that we don’t want to answer, okay?” Molly didn’t reply, opting instead to sit there looking like the cat who got the cream.

“Yasha, what about you?” said Fjord.

“Security,” said Yasha. The group allowed respectful amount of room to elaborate, but Yasha offered no further details.

“Concise,” said Caleb, “I can respect that.”

Beau leaned back in her chair. “What about you, Fjord?” She put her feet up on the table and Molly immediately pushed them off. She didn’t want to flip him off this time, he seemed to enjoy that too much, so she just opted to scowl.

“I was working on the water for a number of years, but these days I mostly coach swimming,” said Fjord, “Well, coach and teach, depending on age.”

“Do I need to come up with something like Molly’s grave story, or can I just say that I’m currently between jobs?” said Nott.

“I’m sure that will be sufficient. Now, I think that’s everyone. So for the next question-”

Beau groaned. “I vote we give up on icebreakers,” she said, “All in favour?”

Beau, Jester, Molly, Nott, Caleb and even Fjord all raised their hands with varying levels of enthusiasm. Yasha looked slightly confused.

“Against?” said Beau said, feigning looking around. “Ayes have it, motion carried. Fjord, what’s on the agenda after icebreakers?”

“Leader hunt.”

“Great. I call dibs on hiding in a tree, obviously,” said Beau, “And if anyone in a different group wants that one, I _am_ willing to arm-wrestle them for it.” This elicited a tiny smile from Yasha, although Beau wasn’t sure exactly why.

Molly held up both hands. “Woah, slow your roll, spidermonkey. What’s the leader hunt?”

“It’s the first activity the kids do after they arrive,” said Caleb with thinly veiled distain. “It’s like a scavenger hunt, but the kids are looking to collect the signatures of all the leaders. Some leaders are well hidden, some have challenges or tasks to complete, and some people take a balance of both. The idea is to entertain, obviously, but also to get the kids comfortable with each other and to introduce them to a range of leaders.”

“I thought this was your first camp,” said Molly.

Caleb nodded. “It is, but we were given information packets, and I know how to read, so...”

Molly shook his head. “Reading anything beyond the health and safety procedures just spoils the surprise for the rest of the camp. Also, I will have my task for the campers be a card game, which I may or may not choose to cheat at. Jester, can you please note that down? And Beau’s tree thing, I guess.” Beau rolled her eyes just a little, but Jester seemed happy enough to play scribe that she said nothing. 

And thus, they all settled on their plans for the hunt, Jester dutifully noting each down on the back of the run list. Not long after they had finished, Norda reappeared, and she seemed vaguely pleased to find the building still standing. Jester presented Norda with their list, and although she combed through their suggestions slowly, she approved them without alteration.

Soon enough, it was dinner time- the long awaited first meal of the camp. It was about as underwhelming as Beau remembered, but the texture of uneven yet thorough cooking still held a certain nostalgia. Beau had also forgotten how comforting she found the sound of a dinning-hall full of people, especially compared to unbearable silences that would occasionally plague her apartment.

As Beau churned her dessert of packet-mix brownies and cheap vanilla ice-cream into a homogenous paste with a fork, she heard the shatter of someone dropping their own bowl. She didn’t even flinch, she just closed her eyes and took it in: the sounds of people rushing in to help. Not because someone told them to, or out of moral superiority, but because that’s what had to be done to keep things moving.

“Are you okay?” said Fjord. He had leaned in so discretely that Beau opened her eyes sharply in alarm at his query, but she was pretty sure she had masked any other signs of shock.

“Oh, yeah,” said Beau, “I like to eat it like this.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” said Fjord.

For once, Beau’s demeanour didn’t contradict her sincerity. “I feel good. Better than I have in a while, actually,” she said.

And with that, she switched cutlery and began to wolf down her bowl of sweet, beige puree.


	5. The First Night Pt. 1

Yasha tried to keep her staring inconspicuous, but she was fascinated by Beau’s method for consuming desert. Beau had moved a table away for dinner, and was now nestled between Fjord and Jester, churning her fork rhythmically like she was beating an egg.

Molly once again followed Yasha’s eyeline. “Do you think she doesn’t like chewing, or did a confectionary kill her parents?”

“Don’t be mean,” said Yasha softly.

Molly raised an eyebrow. “So, you’ve decided to go with the angry one, then?”

Yasha leaned in. She could feel the prickling on her skin, and The Magicians Judge dragging its pocket across her thigh with the change in her centre of gravity. “I haven’t “decided” anything, and I think you’re being very unprofessional,” said Yasha, as forcefully as she could without being overheard.

“My apologies,” said Molly, leaning back in his chair. Yasha settled back into hers as well. Molly looked hurt, but he had also hurt her, so Yasha was willing to let him stew for just a moment.

“I’m not mad,” said Yasha, after the silence had elapsed long enough.

“I know,” said Molly.

“But I don’t like to be teased about these things.”

“Of course.” Molly was unusually earnest as he said this. Yasha released a small breath and placed her right hand on the table in a show of truce. Molly covered her hand with both of his, and tilted his head to whisper playfully, “Do let’s be friends again, Miss Yasha.”

Yasha relaxed to see Molly returning to his usual disposition. She didn’t like serious on him very much. “I will think about it, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” said Yasha, placing her final hand on top of the pile.

“MOLLY! YASHA! WHAT ARE YOU TWO WHISPERING ABOUT?” yelled Jester, unnecessarily loudly given the volume of the dining hall and how far their tables were apart. It was likely for this reason that the room hushed at Jester’s yelling, and Yasha could feel the eyes swinging their way.

Yasha immediately felt herself freeze, but Molly seemed entirely unphased by people’s stares. People did often stare at him, though. He could just be used to it.

Perhaps knowing it would deescalate the situation, Molly gave a loose, easy laugh. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?” he called back. Chatter began to trickle and then pour through the dining room once again, and Yasha released The Magicians Judge. She didn’t even realise she had grabbed it.

Despite Molly’s offer, Jester made no attempt to move. Instead she remained in conversation with Beau and Fjord, but kept looking up to throw glances at the other table. “I promise I won’t tease anymore, but I do believe Jester would like to speak with you,” said Molly. Yasha had thought as much herself, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

“Don’t eat my dessert,” said Yasha, pushing her chair back.

Yasha walked across to where the trio was sitting. She placed palms flat on the table and leaned down slightly so that she wasn’t looming over them too much.

“Hello?” she offered when they all said nothing.

As if that was enough invitation, Jester pushed her face oddly close to Yasha’s. “What were you and Molly whispering about?” she said.

Beau elbowed Jester, but Yasha could see it wasn’t at full force. It was clear Beau was talented in open-hand combat, or at least talented enough to not accidentally break a friend’s rib. For all her grunge-lite attitude and combat boots, Yasha could tell that Beau was controlled. Beau may have seemed like exactly the sort of person drunks liked to pick fights with, but Yasha couldn’t imagine she would have ever had to kick Beau out for instigating a bar-brawl, just perhaps call an ambulance once she finished it.

Jester looked at Beau with shock and just the lightest wobble of the lower lip, but Yasha was fairly sure it was all crocodile tears. Jester may have been pretty girly, sure, and possibly naïve, but she definitely wasn’t delicate.

“What Molly and I talk about is none of your concern,” said Yasha.

“Of course,” said Fjord, who was now looking at Jester pointedly.

“Okay, but that is a really mysterious answer, and now I also want to know,” said Beau, before swallowing another spoonful of her desert concoction. Fjord shifted his gaze to Beau.

“I am going to go back to my table now,” said Yasha.

“Nooooo, Yasha, stay with us,” whined Jester, which halted Yasha more from confusion than coercion.

“I think what Jester means,” said Beau through slightly gritted teeth, “is that you and Molly should come sit with us. Seeing as you’re both just sitting by yourselves over there.”

Yasha considered the offer, before saying, “That is very nice of you, but we are almost done with our meals.”

Beau and Jester looked strangely disappointed, Jester most visibly so. Fjord just shrugged and continued scraping out the remaining morsels in his bowl.

“Perhaps we can sit with you for breakfast?” said Yasha.

“It’s a date!” said Jester, immediately perking back up. She clearly had a short recovery time. Meanwhile, Beau continued either being embarrassed or _brooding_. Yasha was unsure which.

“We are sitting with Fjord, Jester and Beau for breakfast tomorrow,” said Yasha when she returned to Molly. She snatched her bowl back from under his spoon.

“How did I get dragged into this?” said Molly.

Yasha tried to look very serious as she took Molly’s hands in hers. “I do remember you saying that you would like us to be friends again,” she said, attempting to mimic the way Molly had tilted his head just before.

Molly was stunned for a second, and then laughed, squeezing Yasha’s hand affectionately. “Then breakfast it shall be, Miss Yasha,” he said.

Yasha nodded. “Good.”

Yasha left the dining hall shortly thereafter, with Molly promising that he would come to say goodnight before he went to bed. She appreciated the promised gesture, but also strangely found herself thinking it unnecessary. It had only been a matter of hours, but she already felt different. She certainly had not perfected her social graces in one afternoon, but she was not afraid, as she had expected to be.

Yasha had recently come to the revelation that she liked being around people, and that perhaps she might like to be around more people. When Molly had first suggested they come on this camp, she had deeply regretted sharing that revelation.

“Gustav is one of the bosses. You know Gustav. You like Gustav,” insisted Molly.

“I like Gustav,” Yasha had said, “but what if I like no one else? What if no one else likes me?”

“They would be lucky to have you, Yasha,” said Molly forcefully, “and I think this would be good for you.”

Yasha now found herself staring up at the stars. “I think this would be good for you,” Yasha whispered to herself. “I think this would be good for you.” Was she trying to convince herself? What was she feeling now, if not fear?

The night had begun to cool the landscape to a more comfortable temperature. The sky looked like the sky at home, with a sea of pinprick stars visible behind the larger ones. Something about that made Yasha ache, but it was the strangely good kind of ache, like pressing one’s thumb into a bruise. She tilted her head back so that for a dizzying few seconds all she could see, even in her peripheral, was stars.

By the time Yasha made it to their cabin, Nott was already laying on her bed in a loose jumper and leggings. The bag of rocks was out next to her once more, and she had singled out one rock in particular, which she was inspecting closely.

“You really like those rocks,” said Yasha.

“Yep,” said Nott without looking away from her specimen.

“Do you like all rocks, or are these ones special? How do you pick out new ones for the collection?”

Nott immediately sat up, acutely alert. “Are you offering me a rock?”

“No, but I wanted to know, if perhaps I saw a rock, how to know if you would like it.”

Nott was quiet. “That’s very nice of you, Yasha, especially seeing we’ve just met,” she said eventually.

Yasha placed The Magicians Judge on top of her chest of drawers. “So, what makes a good rock?”

The answer was, as Yasha discovered, fairly complex. There was size and texture, of course, but that also related back to colour. Sedimentary rocks should have cool veins, but igneous rocks shouldn’t have sharp edges. Nott kept pulling what seemed to be a geometrically impossible amount of rocks out of the bag as visual aids, pointing and gesturing more and more wildly the longer she went on.

“Anyway, those are the main things,” said Nott, almost breathless by this point. Yasha nodded, and Nott mirrored that nod before loading the rocks back into her bag. “I also like antiques,” Nott added shyly, “but I think maybe we should save that for another time, if you want to be in bed before sunrise.”

“Okay,” said Yasha. By this point she had fully changed, and was about halfway through taking out her braids.

“Do you, uh, like rocks or antiques or anything?” said Nott.

Yasha had her hands in her hair, but sort of jerked her neck to gesture to The Magicians Judge. Nott seemed to understand. “Knives are cool,” she said.

“Yes, but knives are not as good as rocks for showing to campers,” said Yasha.

“I’ll jot that one down in the booklet they gave me to record advice from more senior leaders,” said Nott. Yasha wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking.

Yasha worked in silence for a little while, and Nott went back to her rock. As Yasha was unravelling the final braid, she finally drew the courage to say the thing she had been thinking since this afternoon.

“I know that you wanted to have Caleb and Beau supervise you as a junior leader. I don’t have anything else to say, I just want you to know that I know, and I understand.”

Nott clutched the rock to her chest. She was lost for words for a good minute. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she said finally, soft but suspicious.

“Would you prefer I was mean?” said Yasha. Nott said nothing. Yasha sighed, running her hands through her hair. “I remember what it was like to be young, Nott. And I remember what it felt like when my opinions were not respected.” Yasha sat down in her bed. “And I don’t know you and Caleb very well, but I can tell that you are close. And when you are different, the people you are close to seem to matter more.”

There was a glint of recognition in Nott’s eyes. “Thank you, Yasha, but I’m sure you and Molly will make excellent supervisors,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so,” said Molly, poking his head around the door-frame.

Nott yelped and shot under her blanket. “I’m not decent!” she said indignantly. Yasha wasn’t sure what about Nott’s outfit was indecent, but she supposed it was more form-fitting than Nott’s baggy day clothes.

“Sorry, this won’t take long,” said Molly. Nott rolled her eyes and pulled the blanket over her head, after which the muffled sound of rocks clicking together could still be heard.

Yasha continued to run her fingers through her hair, checking it was at least somewhat detangled. “I’m sure that’s what you tell all the ladies,” she said dryly.

“Miss Yasha, is that two jokes in one day? Whatever did I do to deserve this honour?” Yasha wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t, and Molly picked up the slack as he continued. “You know, I think I was right. You are _blossoming_ here already.”

Yasha let out a small noise of discontent but didn’t elaborate further. Molly, seeing that his friend was beginning to wind down and lose steam, lay aside the smugness once again. Not giving a chance for, and hopefully not expecting, Yasha to rise from her bed, Molly strode into the cabin. He placed a hand either side of her face and kissed her where her hairline met her forehead.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” said Yasha, “I’m not dying.”

“A hedonist loves to dote,” was all Molly had to say for himself. Well, not all, but he had backed well out of striking range before he added, “I know that you’re saving yourself for Beau and Jester, but I hope you can keep the room in your heart for an old friend.”

“You must really have a death-wish, Molly,” said Yasha.

Molly clicked his tongue. _Temper, temper_ , were the words normally to follow, although Molly was apparently less inclined to wave red flags at bulls after tonight’s falling out. In some ways he didn’t need to say it, though. The click was enough for Yasha to know what he meant, and she allowed herself to soften slightly. It was just Molly, after all, and he didn’t mean anything by it. Also, Nott had fallen asleep sometime between disappearing from sight and the current snoring, so this was functionally a more private conversation than in the hall. No reason to get upset.

Yasha looked back to Molly, who was waiting expectantly. “Sleep well, Molly,” she said, by way of dismissal.

“I love you too,” replied Molly. He waggled a few fingers and was gone.

Yasha stood, turned off the light, and was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow.


	6. The First Night Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up gang, it's yah girl.
> 
> There might be a slight halt in production for the next few weeks while a) I try to watch a few more episodes until I'm comfortable with my canon knowledge buffer again, and b) I attempt to pass my uni courses, now that they're back on. That said, I wanted to thank everyone again for your continuing kind words and kudos, they really mean so much to me! I am super motivated to continue on with the Summer Fun(TM) once I have this batch of assignments under control.
> 
> Speaking of motivation, in the DnD campaign that I DM I name every session after a showtune, and I am this close to caving into the similar desire to make all the chapter titles of this fic song lyrics. Please think of me in my hour of need, and/or keep my memory when I fall.
> 
> Alright, enough said, hope you enjoy!

Jester was, of course, furious that Beau didn’t like her door sign. Jester knew that it was stupid. She knew that Beau didn’t _hate_ her sign or anything, but she had wanted to make something that made Beau’s eyes sparkle like they did when she was making the bed. It was _their_ sign for _their_ room. She didn’t want Beau to think it was just “good.”

Yasha liked the signs, which was some sort of balm, Jester supposed. But then, what was up with Yasha and Molly? They didn’t seem, you know, romantic or anything. Jester knew unresolved sexual tension when she saw it, and that certainly wasn’t it. So why was she jealous?

Jester sighed as she sprawled on her bed, journal lying open next to her. She knew the answer, of course. She was jealous of the way Yasha would brush the back of Molly’s hand with a single finger as she moved past. She was jealous of the whispers Molly snuck into Yasha’s ears, causing her to smile cheekily or to frown seriously. And Jester was the most jealous of the way Yasha would search for Molly whenever something went wrong, gazing at him like he was the only life raft in vast ocean.

They had a trust and an intimacy that really had nothing to do with attraction. And Jester wanted it so badly that it made her chest ache.

“You’re awfully quiet,” said Beau, pulling down her pyjama top.

“I’m just thinking,” said Jester.

“That explains the burning smell.”

Jester poked her tongue out at Beau, who responded in kind.

“Is it anything I should be worried about?” said Beau.

“Yes, I am plotting to kill you so that I can have the cabin to myself, without anyone asking me dumb questions.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “And to think, I was kind of starting to trust you. This will put me back years in therapy,” she responded flatly.

“Indeed, trusting me was your first mistake!” said Jester, struggling for a few seconds to free her pillow from the tight covers. Beau was still smirking from Jester’s struggle when Jester flung the pillow her way.

Beau immediately caught the plush projectile. She lifted the pillow above her head, calmly strode over and smacked it down onto Jester’s stomach. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it did make a satisfying noise. Something about that made Jester laugh. Not the nervous laugh that had been bubbling up constantly since she had met Beau, but the laugh that came from that genuine, warm feeling that pooled in her stomach sometimes.

Beau mimed moving the pillow up to smother Jester, and Jester let out a small squeal, batting her away. Beau dropped the pillow directly onto Jester’s face, temporarily blinding her.

But the time Jester had sat herself up, Beau was already back sitting on her bed. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t kill me if you tried,” she said, beginning to pull the long part of her hair up into a messy topknot.

Jester knew Beau was trying to be condescending, but her heart stopped when she heard the word “sweetheart” leave Beau’s lips. She immediately added it to her mental list of things that she wanted to make Beau do again, along with the sparkling eyes.

Realising that Beau was now fully ready for bed, Jester stood and began searching for her pyjamas. Upon recovery, she threw them on the bed and crossed her arms to pull her shirt off.

“Oop,” Beau made a small surprised noise, and by the time Jester looked over Beau was sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing the wall. Her eyes also seemed to be closed, but that could have been because she was doing her hair without a mirror.

Jester suspected it wasn’t, though, but she chose not to bring it up.

Jester finished getting changed, but Beau had not moved. “I’m done,” said Jester.

Beau turned back around. “So, what planning do you have to do tomorrow?” she said, as if nothing had just happened.

“Fjord and I were going to go over our plans for Team Time,” said Jester, “which sounds super boring, so I might just watch Fjord’s muscles while he does it all.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” said Beau, “but something tells me that Fjord is not quite the pushover you’re hoping that he’ll be.”

Jester was loathed to admit it, but Beau was probably right. But this didn’t stop her blowing a dismissive raspberry. “Whatever, I probably shouldn’t leave it all to him to do it alone anyway, he’d probably leave out all the good crafts. Boys, am I right?”

“Oh yeah, boys,” said Beau with a mocking seriousness, whatever the hell that was supposed to indicate.

“What about you?” said Jester.

Beau shrugged. “Caleb and I will probably do the same. I might start working out the kinks in my Saturday elective too.”

“What’s your elective?” said Jester. It was her first year on camp, so she hadn’t been offered the opportunity to design one.

“I call it Run Around In A Field And Try Not To Get Bitten By A Snake Or To Kill Each Other,” said Beau. “It’s actually Sports, but I basically don’t enforce any of the rules unless the kids actually seem interested. Normally the older kids play a decent game of soccer, and younger kids accidentally re-invent Calvinball.” Beau started to pick at something between her teeth. “I just haven’t sorted my wet weather plan out yet. There’s only so many times you can watch kids play bootleg dance mat games before it starts to melt your brain, so I’m trying to keep that as a last resort this year.”

Jester did her best to muffle her enthusiasm. “How many other leaders do you normally get to assist you?”

Beau shrugged. “Enough to keep in ratio, so normally only two or three. That said, the leaders need either a high boredom threshold or a knack for playing games without consistent rules. I also prefer to have one of the first aid officers, but that’s just because I hate carrying injured kids up that hill.”

“I’m a first aid officer!” said Jester, abandoning the enthusiasm-muffling.

“Good to know,” said Beau neutrally. And then, “I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

Jester watched curiously as Beau picked up her toothbrush, toothpaste, and her water bottle. She walked out onto the veranda pulled herself up to sit on the railing parallel to their door.

“If you tell the girls I did this I’ll swear blind I didn’t. It’s against the rules,” said Beau. She added some toothpaste to the brush and poured water from her water bottle over it, the excess spilling onto the grass below.

“Why?”

Beau stuck the toothbrush in her mouth, but replied before actually starting to brush. “Eh, it’s kind of gross. Spitting in the grass and stuff.”

Thinking that through, Jester sort of had to agree, although it probably would have been more gross if it wasn’t Beau. “Then why are you doing it?”

Beau’s mouth was now filled with toothpaste, garbling her speech. “Because it’s way more convenient than walking up to the bathrooms,” Jester as pretty sure was the reply.

Eventually, Beau swung one leg over the railing and spat into the dirt, before adding with a grin and perfect clarity, “Besides, breaking the rules is half the fun of getting to write them.”

Beau took a swig of water and swished it in her mouth, before she spat that on to the ground as well.

“Miss Beau! Whatever will the neighbours think?” Jester heard someone call out with the intonation of a scandalised southern belle.

“Piss off, Molly!” replied Beau, flipping the bird out into the dark. Jester could hear satisfied laughter retreating in the distance, as well as grumbling from nearby cabins.

Beau dismounted the railing, suddenly looking foul. “What is that dude’s problem?” she grumbled, slamming her toothbrush and accessories down on top of her drawers and pulling the door closed.

“I think he likes you,” said Jester. Beau looked incredulous. “Not, you know, likes-likes you, but I think this is him trying to make friends.”

“Funny way to go about it,” Beau huffed. She had a cute sort of pout about her now, and it almost made Jester question how nervous she had been hanging out with Beau all day.

Jester yawned in spite of herself. Beau’s demeanour immediately snapped back to its usual charming abrasiveness. “I’m keeping you up, am I?”

“You are, actually,” said Jester, “I brushed my teeth while you and Fjord were washing up, so I could have been asleep like half an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry for being a productive and contributing member of this camp, I guess,” said Beau.

“Apology accepted,” said Jester. That elicited a tiny smile from Beau.

Beau had a static moment of contemplation, before she turned seriously to Jester. “Okay, it’s your first night, so I have to show you something.” Beau opened the door again, and Jester provided her with a puzzled look in response. “It’s super dumb, okay? But the kids really like it,” she added, equal parts defensive and undeterred.

With that, Beau positioned herself against the doorframe, arms folded, with the door only as ajar as the width of her body.

“So, when you do lights out, you ask them if they want to turn the lights off with magic. Some of them might even ask you for it themselves.” Jester nodded. “Okay, so blow on the lights.”

“What?” said Jester.

“Blow on the light, like you’re blowing out a candle.”

Jester complied tentatively, tilting her head up towards the ceiling and giving a short burst of breath while still keeping one eye on Beau.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” said Beau.

Jester exhaled a bit more, but couldn’t shake the feeling that Beau was mocking her somehow.

“C’mon, Jester, like you mean it!”

Jester, unsure of what else to do, puffed her cheeks before releasing the air with all her might.

The room went dark.

Jester made a startled noise. The lights came back on, and Jester turned to a grinning Beau. “You’ve got to mean it for the magic to work,” she teased. She was definitely teasing now, if this whole set up hadn’t been teasing already.

“How did you do that?” said Jester.

“I didn’t do it,” said Beau, “You’re the one who was blowing on the light.” Beau’s tone had turned strangely dismissive, and Jester frowned. The frown quickly melted, however, when she noticed the sparkle in Beau’s eyes, just like when she had made the bed. This was something Beau took pride in.

Telegraphing her intention by tilting her head back, Jester blew on the light again. The room plunged into darkness. Jester tried to keep an eye on Beau the whole time, but she got nothing.

The lights came back on. “How are you doing that?” demanded Jester.

“Magic.”

Jester folded her arms, doing her best to hide her unquenchable desire to sulk at not being let in on the secret. She clearly did a terrible job, as Beau began to laugh at her. It wasn’t a nasty laugh, but it really heightened the desire to sulk, as well as bring a wave of embarrassment. Jester hoped that, at least, didn’t register with Beau.

Apparently seeing Jester’s reluctance to continue, Beau tilted her head up and blew a lazy breath towards the light. The room dropped into darkness again, which was pretty unfair given how much effort Beau had demanded Jester put in for the same effect. When the lights came up, Beau shifted one elbow of her crossed arms, revealing the light-switch behind it. With the hand tucked in the crook of that elbow, she flicked the light switch on and off a few times.

“The magic must be getting confused now,” said Beau. She resumed her previous position and continued to flick the lights on and off. Now that Jester was aware of it, Beau’s stance in the doorway did appear slightly awkward, but the movement was otherwise concealed.

“That’s a good trick,” said Jester.

Beau shook her head. “It’s really not. Pretty much all the kids figure it out by the time they’re ten or eleven, if someone doesn’t tell them before then.” Beau’s eye were still shining as she abandoned her post and pulled the door closed. “But it’s kind of like Santa, a lot of kids enjoy the ritual of it all even if they know it’s not real.”

Jester gasped. “Santa’s not real?”

Beau snorted, and Jester took some solace in the fact that she apparently didn’t seem naive enough to still believe in Santa. She would take her wins where she could get them.

“Anyway,” said Beau, opting to climb into her bed from the foot rather than the side, “I’m going to turn in, enjoy your journaling.”

Jester looked at the journal next to her, which she had all but forgotten. A brief wave of guilt washed over her, but she ignored it long enough to quickly close the book and shove it under her pillow. “Actually, I’m done for the night.”

Beau gestured to herself, now under her blanket. “Well, if you want the light out, be my guest, but I’m good to go.”

Jester made a martyrly show of climbing out of bed and making her way to the light switch. This garnered a disappointing lack of reaction from Beau. Once at the light-switch, Jester turned back to Beau expectantly, hoping for at least a little entertainment for her trouble. Beau raised an eyebrow, before shaking her head. “I’m too bitter and world-weary for that shit,” was her poor excuse.

Slightly disappointed, Jester turned off the light and stumbled blindly back to her bed. And maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Jester could swear that, in the cover of dark, she heard a quiet but deliberate exhale from Beau.


	7. Tree By The Fence Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!  
> Thank you once again for tuning in. I am still working on uni and building up that buffer of show knowledge, so next chapter or two will probably be spaced out again. Thank you for your patience :-)  
> This is another longer one, hope you enjoy!

The sun rising over the lake every morning may have been a beautiful, but the reflection of the light off the water meant that somehow laser precision beams of sunlight burst through every gap in the cabin door from the moment dawn broke. Beau knew that her declaration of war on the sun was nigh, a war that would be largely characterised by stuffing blankets and newspapers into the offending crevices around the door in an effort to get that extra half an hour of sleep. For now, though, she was well rested and didn’t mind so much.

Beau disentangled herself from her bedsheets and remade her hair into a ponytail. She allowed herself to look over at the sleeping form of her roommate for just a minute. The warm nostalgia of cohabitation bloomed in her ribcage, bringing with it the ease she had missed all year.

The flat sheet, of course, had come untucked overnight.

Beau took a run through the track by the lake. She doubted she would be able to sustain the habit for the whole camp, but it was worth trying for at least the first morning. The earth was already warming in the sun, but the cold breeze off the lake remained cutting. 

Even though she had always been reasonably fit, Beau had detested running laps. Her first in-school suspension had been over her refusal to participate in warm up laps in PE. It was mostly the boredom that made them unbearable. But with scenery, and music to blast, and plenty to mull over already, this wasn’t so bad.

Jester had finally stirred by the time Beau made her way down from the showers. “Sleep well?” asked Beau, as she tousled her hair with her towel.

Jester nodded and yawned. “I didn’t think you would be a morning person,” she said.

“I’m not,” said Beau, “I just like being awake when no one else is.”

Jester blinked sluggishly instead of replying. She was clearly not a morning person either.

“Your flat sheet is loose,” said Beau as she tied back her hair in a bun, pulling a few strands at the front loose so they could frame her face.

That woke Jester enough to give an irritated grumble before attempting to remedy the situation. “I move a lot in my sleep,” said Jester.

“Clearly,” said Beau.

Jester, abandoning the flat sheet after maybe thirty seconds, began making moves to get changed, so Beau went out onto the veranda to give her some privacy. Just down the hill, Molly was making his way across to what Beau suspected was Yasha’s cabin. Beau wasn’t sure what Yasha had done to earn the armed escort, but she seemed the type who could have made it clear to Molly if she didn’t want it.

“Good morning, Miss Beau!” Molly called out, just as Beau thought he hadn’t seen her. His volume shattered the silence blanketing the camp, and so naturally Beau startled. Molly laughed. Beau tried to roll her eyes at him, but he had disappeared behind the building.

Jester appeared on the veranda. “Do you think breakfast is ready?”

Beau checked the time on her phone. “I’d think so. Should we go up and see?”

As if on cue, Yasha, Molly and Nott all emerged from the cabin below. “Hi Yasha!” called Jester. Yasha gave a small wave.

Yasha’s hair was completely different from yesterday, pulled back into one smooth, thick plait. It was a real girl-you-could-take-home-to-meet-your-mom look, if you still wanted your mom to be scandalised by the five ear piercings the style revealed. That was Beau’s exact type, funnily enough.

Beau wondered if Yasha intended to style her hair intricately again today, maybe after breakfast, or if that had been a first-day special. Not that Yasha didn’t look pretty like this. And not that it mattered whether Yasha looked pretty. _Dumb lesbian._ It just seemed a shame to bring all that hair jewellery to camp and then to not use it after the first day.

Nott diverged from the trio, presumably off to “Molly” for Caleb. Jester practically skipped along the veranda to meet the remaining pair, and Beau almost had to break into a light jog to keep up. Maybe Jester was a slow starter, but clearly once the girl was awake, she was on.

“Ladies,” said Molly in greeting. “How did we sleep?”

“With my eyes closed!” said Jester, breaking to a grin. Yasha tilted her head ever so slightly, but Molly replied with an almost identical grin.

There was a pause. “And you, Beau?” said Yasha.

“Oh, the same,” said Beau, suddenly self-conscious when it didn’t come out as funny as she had hoped.

“She had already been awake for _hours_ when I woke up,” said Jester. Yasha gave Beau an enigmatic glance, and the only thing Beau wanted more than to understand what that meant was to knock the fresh smile right off Molly’s face.

“I’ve been up for an hour, hour and half, max,” said Beau. Great, now she sounded weirdly defensive about it.

“Is the run by the lake nice?” said Yasha, clearly addressing Beau even if the rest of her attention was pointed at the path up the hill.

Beau shrugged, trying to act nonchalant at idea that Yasha had seen her running. “Yeah, it’s not bad if you don’t twist your ankle on a tree root.”

“I could probably manage that. Maybe I’ll join you one morning,” said Yasha, “If you’d be okay with that?”

Beau’s stomach dropped, but not unpleasantly. “Yeah, sure, if you like,” said Beau, her voice also dropping an octave. It was Jester’s turn now to hit Beau with an admittedly less enigmatic glance.

Mercifully, that brought them to the door to the mess hall. Beau could smell that hot food was still being cooked, so she made a beeline for the cereal table.

Jester trailed her. “You want cereal?” said Beau. Jester shook her head. “Feel free to go sit with Molly and Yasha then, if you want. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Jester remained where she was, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “Something the matter?” said Beau.

“No,” said Jester, shaking whatever had caused her funny turn and prancing off towards the table Fjord had saved for the rest of them.

When Beau eventually turned back, cereal in one hand and cup of instant coffee in the other, she saw that Molly and Yasha were still standing off to one side of the table.

Yasha whispered something to Molly. Although Beau didn’t hear what, she caught Molly’s reply as she approached. “I _have_ been playing nicely.” He wore an expression that toed the line between faux and genuine defensiveness. Yasha flicked her knuckles against his sternum, which looked like it would hurt more than Molly let on. She then leaned in closer still and whispered some more, but Beau looked away as she went to pass them.

“Do they have any decaf?” said Fjord, gesturing to the cup as Beau sat down.

“What’s the point of coffee if it’s decaf?” said Beau.

“Exactly,” said Caleb, who had just sidled up to the table with Nott. He still seemed extremely bleary-eyed, and gratefully took directions to the hot drink supplies.

“Yasha said we could sit with you,” said Nott, her eyes tracking Caleb even though he was only a few strides away.

“Wouldn’t have stopped you regardless,” said Beau.

Jester ran her finger up and down her fork as Beau began her first course. “Did you and Caleb sleep well?” Jester asked Fjord.

“I don’t know if Caleb slept well, but he certainly slept soundly. I personally slept well enough.”

“Cool,” said Jester, beginning to twirl the fork between her fingers.

Molly and Yasha finished their parley and approached the table. Yasha wordlessly took the empty seat next to Jester, the other being occupied by Fjord. Jester seemed more than happy with this arrangement, immediately ramping up into a monologue as she flipped her head between Yasha and Fjord.

“May I?” said Molly, gesturing to the seat next to Beau that was diagonally opposite Yasha. Beau nodded, biting down the urge to snark that perhaps Molly might like to take the seat at the head of the table instead, given it was still empty.

Molly looked to Yasha, and she broke away briefly from Jester’s display. He gave her a slight eyebrow flick, a question, to which Yasha’s answer was a smile. Beau wasn’t exactly sure what the negotiation had been between the two of them, but she tried to set aside her feeling of being _managed_ in favour of focusing on how beautiful and surprisingly delicate Yasha’s smile was.

Caleb returned. Nott, finally at ease, took the head of the table, and Caleb the seat between Nott and Beau.

“Glad to see everyone survived the first night,” said Fjord.

“Glad to have survived,” said Caleb.

Beau quickly drained the milk from her otherwise empty bowl. “Do any of you want me to make a plate of hot food for you when I get mine, seeing as you just sat down?” she said, placing the bowl in the middle of the table.

As if on cue, Gustav stepped out of the kitchen. “Hot food will be ready to put out in couple of minutes!” he announced to the dining hall.

“How did you do that?” said Jester, looking excessively shocked.

“I can sense meal times like a dog sensing an earthquake,” said Beau. To be fair, that skill was part raw instinct, part years of being conditioned to watch for changes in body language in the kitchen.

Fjord insisted on helping Beau get food for themselves and Jester, Yasha and Molly. Nott popped right back up from her seat, declaring she would serve herself and Caleb. The three of them wandered over to the serving area, holding plates and watching as the bain-maries were filled with eggs, tomato, toast and bacon.

“I’ll do plates for Jester and Yasha if you do Molly,” said Beau, placing the second plate on the muscle of her thumb and gesturing the Fjord with the third, “Molly will think I spat in his if I do it.”

“Sure,” said Fjord, “And that’s mighty impressive, by the way.”

Beau looked down at the plates with a hint of surprise. “You should see me with trays of glasses, I’m a pro.” Beau shook her head. “This isn’t even me showing off.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very popular for final night,” said Fjord, referring to the mock formal dinner where the leaders played restaurant with the campers.

“Well, I always aim to please,” said Beau, flashing her best Stepford smile and beginning to load her plates.

Beau was almost comforted by the shudder the act elicited from Fjord. “Do you work in hospitality?” he said, once he had recovered.

“Just during the summers,” said Beau, making a break for the table before the conversation could delve any deeper.

Beau passed out the plates to Jester and Yasha, who both looked as mesmerised as Fjord had. It really was the little things with these people. Beau, having had enough of being the attraction for the minute, then sat down and began working on the main course in silence.

The meal was come and gone all too soon, especially the bacon, which Beau vowed to get a bigger serve of tomorrow. After waiting ten minutes or so for everyone else to finish up, Beau began to stack plates, saying, “Jester, I feel like you can take washing up duties for the table, given your shirking last night.”

Beau had meant the comment lightly, but Jester immediately looked chastised and the air was sucked out of the room. Jester dipped her head so that she was looking at Beau through her eyelashes. Beau could imagine a person very easily caving to that look, if there was anything to cave to.

Jester then looked back up and poked her tongue out at Beau. Beau poked her tongue out back, by this point well used to this as Jester’s primary mode of seeking assurance. Beau also did her best not to scrunch her nose or add anything else that might be misconstrued as aggravated. It must have come across correctly, for once, because Jester visibly relaxed.

“Actually, don’t worry, I’ll do it,” said Beau, discovering that there was something to cave to after all.

Jester put her hand in out to stop Beau picking up the stack of plates. “No, you’re right, I should know how to do it when the kids get here.” Jester seemed cheerful enough by this point, so Beau stepped back and let her handle it.

Jester took the plates and left. Molly got up and followed her, throwing some sort of look over his shoulder to Beau. Fjord seemed tempted to say something, but between the other three presences at the table and Beau’s complete unwillingness to dissect the interaction, he hesitated too long.

“Caleb, I’ll meet you by the tree that cuts into the fence line at the end of the soccer field, you know the one?” said Beau. Caleb nodded. He was new this year, but he had probably committed the map of the campsite to memory or something. “Cool, ten thirty?”

Caleb nodded, “Ten thirty.”

Beau left without another word, making her way straight to her tree to clear her head.

Caleb arrived at the meeting spot fifteen minutes early and carrying a binder that was, frankly, upsettingly overstuffed. By that time, Beau was in the middle using her pocketknife to shave the bark off a short, thick branch she had found.

“They let you have a knife?” said Caleb. “Forgive me if this is too harsh, but you seem like the kind of delinquent who should be kept unarmed for everyone’s safety.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve managed to get into plenty of trouble unarmed,” said Beau, not looking up from her work partially as a snub and partially out of interest in keeping her fingers intact. She wasn’t sure exactly when Fjord was going to lift his embargo on driving people to the hospital, but she figured it was best not to test her luck.

“So, what are you making?” said Caleb, seating himself.

“A talking stick,” said Beau, “if the kids talk too much, we hit them over the head with it.”

Caleb nodded. “I assume it is actually to signify whose turn it is to talk in group discussions.”

Beau peeled a satisfying, palm-sized chunk of bark away. “You know, jokes are a lot more fun if you actually react to them. You can even laugh.”

“Do you go looking to pick fights with every man you meet, or is it just a side effect of the winning personality?” said Caleb.

“If you’re going to try competing with Molly as to who can piss me off the most, this partnership is going to go downhill very fast,” said Beau, trying to smooth the nub where she had removed a divergent twig. “And “winning personality”? You’re one to talk, opening with that knife comment.”

Caleb opened the binder. “My apologies, I meant nothing by it.”

Beau was sort of annoyed that Caleb had immediately apologised rather than doubling down. It was very unsatisfying. “Whatever,” she said.

The two of them were silent for a moment, apart from the scraping of bark.

“I had a few annotations to the team time booklets, if I could share that with you?” said Caleb.

“Go for it,” said Beau.

Caleb flipped a few pages. “Uh, I have just written the word “why” with two question marks and then underlined it, so I think that is my first note.”

“As in, why do we do team time?” said Beau. Caleb nodded. “I dunno man, they’ve been doing it since I was a kid. It’s supposed to help everyone chill out, like an emotional nap time. Depending on the camper, may also be an actual nap time.”

“Do the campers actually use the time to relax?” said Caleb.

Beau stopped her work and made a non-committal gesture with her hand. “You have to be able to read the room.”

Caleb nodded again. “Makes sense. Thank you.”

“No worries,” said Beau, resuming.

“My next note,” said Caleb, “is “Why does Norda like icebreaker games so much?””

Beau snorted. “Wouldn’t we all like to know.”

“I think that we should use half of these, maximum.”

“I agree.”

“Excellent.”

“Cool.” Beau stopped to look at Caleb, who had an odd sort of expression on his face. “What?” she said irritably.

“Bibliothecography?” Caleb said incredulously.

Beau placed her work down. “You think I’m too dumb for library science?” she said.

“See that is the thing I’m talking about, with the picking fights,” said Caleb. “I was more referring to the disconnect between that and _this_.” Caleb gestured Beau’s general being, which was honestly a fair point.

Beau folded her arms. “I said that people wanted me to go into bibliothecography, not that I was ever interested myself.”

Caleb looked like he was maybe trying to get a read on Beau, which she did not care for at all. She squinted back at him, but he was undeterred by the parody. “Mmm, well, you do strike me as a woman who is desperate to manage everyone’s expectations,” Caleb said eventually.

“That’s the nicest way anyone has ever told me that I seem like I’m the family disappointment and that I know it.”

Caleb looked away. “There are worse things to be.”

“I’m sure,” said Beau. She picked up the stick and tried to go back to shaving, but in her distracted state immediately nicked herself. She swore, out of annoyance more than anything.

“Are you okay?” said Caleb.

“Obviously I just cut myself,” said Beau, pressing her thumb down on the space between the first and second knuckle on her index finger, where the cut resided.

“I think Jester’s the nearest first aid officer, should I go get her?” said Caleb.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said Beau, “It doesn’t hurt that much, I just spooked myself.”

“Alright,” said Caleb, clearly unconvinced.

Beau let go. The wound was superficial and already scabbing, so definitely nothing worth summoning help over. It did sting a little, though, and Beau had lost all enthusiasm for her whittling.

“Shall we talk about the kids?” said Beau.

“I suppose,” said Caleb.

“ _My_ first note is that this is the third year Norda has given me a twelve-thirteen group, so anyone who says she doesn’t hate me is lying to themselves,” said Beau.

“There are many layers to that, each more pessimistic than the last, so I will just let it stand as is,” said Caleb. “Have you worked with any of these campers before?”

Beau went through the list, pointing out the three who had been on her team last year. Caleb made small markings next to their names as she described them. Presumably, it was some sort of shorthand, or coded so that the kids wouldn’t be able to accidentally catch a glimpse. Beau knew from experience that was probably for the best.

Beau pointed to a camper with a familiar last name. “Oh, and I had his sister my first year. She was a big talker but sweet, and he always seemed the same.”

Caleb noted this down as well. “And the rest are mysteries yet to be discovered,” he said, flourishing his pen.

“That’s one way of thinking about it,” said Beau. “The good news is that if we get sick of them, we could take out more than half of the team with a peanut butter sandwich.”

“You make a lot of jokes about injuring the children,” said Caleb, before pre-emptively adding, “Just an observation.”

Beau shrugged. “Need to get it out of my system by the time the kids get here. Making the kids cry is generally frowned upon, and I have a lot of untapped rage even when I’ve had a normal amount of sleep.”

Caleb said nothing, and instead started writing something down in his shorthand. His inability to react to her self-depreciation made Beau feel weirdly vulnerable, and she kept talking.

“The kids are just like, you know, small people. I mean a lot of them can suck at times, but what good is me telling them that going to do, you know?” said Beau. Caleb had moved on to colour-coding the allergies list now, still not looking up. “Caleb, it’s your turn to talk now.”

“Norda puts you with the twelve-thirteens because they respect you,” said Caleb.

“What?” said Beau.

Caleb spat the highlighter cap out of his mouth. “I said, Norda puts you with the twelve-thirteens because they respect you.”

“No, the highlighter wasn’t the problem,” said Beau. “She really said that?”

“She said: Beau is a nightmare, if she doesn’t make her own trouble then someone else’s finds her,” Caleb counted out each point on his fingers, “she’s a contrarian, she’s often reckless, and she is has the worst attitude I’ve ever seen. She would be objectively the worst co-leader I could give you except for one thing, which is that she is the only leader I’ve met who the twelve-thirteens respect. And they sure as hell aren’t going to respect you, and neither will Beau most likely, but if you can get her onside then you have some hope of surviving the summer.” Caleb drew breath thoughtfully. “It was something like that, anyway.”

Beau was almost relieved. “Oh yeah, that sounds more like Norda,” she said. “So, she doesn’t like you either?”

“It appears not,” said Caleb. If that bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t like me more, so suck it,” said Beau. Caleb gave the smallest slither of a grin and Beau beamed. “Ha! So you do know what a joke is!”

Caleb lay his highlighters down. “It’s a shame you can’t tell more that are funny,” he said. “And we can take out more of the team with ice cream,” he added, indicating his blue highlights.

“Good to know,” said Beau.

Caleb took the half-finished talking stick from next to Beau and turned it over in his hand. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again and said, “For what it’s worth, me having just met you, I don’t think you’re too stupid for library science. I think that you’re too smart to let people talk you into things that aren’t right for you.”

Beau didn’t really know what to say to that. There wasn’t any warmth to Caleb’s comment, which was just as well, because that would have made her uncomfortable enough to leave then and there. But neither was what he said not complimentary, and it clearly carried a weight behind it that Beau was unsure how to broach. Caleb was right, they had just met.

Beau had spent a significant period of her adolescence lurching from parade of new faces to parade of new faces, working her way through the laundry list of schools she could be expelled from until she had finally been sent way. Even so, she had never really found a skill or passion for actively seeking out friends. She wasn’t even sure that she wanted to be friends with Caleb, exactly, she just knew that he didn’t seem annoyed by her, and that was enticing.

Beau reclaimed the stick. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you piss me off as much as Molly does,” she said. Caleb was already taking a highlighter to the risk assessments, and Beau was unsure if he was even listening.

They sat there for an hour or more, the silence broken every so often for a few sentences back and forth about ideas or alterations. The whole time Beau had this foreign feeling inside her. Not the sort of feeling she had towards girls, but it bore that same urgent compulsion to talk. She wanted to tell Caleb that the tree they were sitting under was the one she was going to hide in during the leader hunt, because it was the best tree for climbing. She wanted to tell him that she knew that it was the best tree for climbing because she had used it to steal away for her first kiss. She wanted to tell him that despite how consistently ratty the twelve-thirteens were, she secretly liked them because they always reminded her a little bit of herself.

Instead, she did what was needed to keep things moving. She advised where she could, deferred where she absolutely had to, and conceded nothing in the space in between. Caleb, for his part, took quick and dutiful notes. Although Beau still felt herself grating against his rigidity, there was something pleasing about the ways he could condense her jumping thoughts into single sentence bullet points.

_B + C will go to library in town first Tuesday off to pick read-aloud book._

_Check all hats and water bottles are labelled first day._

_Despite protests, if you give the campers stickers they do like them and will put them on their lanyards._

“What do you give stickers for? Good behaviour?” said Caleb.

“God no, that’s super patronising, and I’m hardly the authority on good behaviour anyway,” said Beau, and Caleb nodded. “I mostly like to buy a different set from the dollar store every time I have a day off, and give them out the next day. Eventually, they develop an almost Pavlovian reaction to my return.”

Caleb noted something under the bullet point in his shorthand. “Is there anything else left that we haven’t covered?” he said.

Beau shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

Caleb bobbed his head. “Very well.” He closed the binder and stood, taking a moment to dust himself off. It almost seemed as if he had intended to walk away without another word, but instead he turned back to where Beau was seated and said, “Let me know if you think of anything you would like us to discuss.”

“You too,” said Beau, hoping that her bewilderment wasn’t showing on her face. Another head bob, and Beau was left alone under the tree.


	8. How To Make Friends and Influence People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni assignments are going suspiciously well. I guess if you can't make your own executive function, store bought really is fine. (Go figure :-P)
> 
> None the less I, much like Beau, would love to establish a healthy expectation management. I still do have a decent amount of uni work, and also because of the COVID-19 restrictions here in Oz I'm staring down the barrel of my dozen or so tutoring kids (who were already struggling with their work) starting back the term trying to grapple with online classes.  
> I did just hit a pocket of Oops! All Backstory episodes in the show though, so be assured that I am itching to write when I have the free time.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your kudos and comments, it's so lovely! Hope you enjoy :-)

In addition to his poor attitude at any time before noon, Molly remained defensive of his behaviour towards Beau, so really Yasha should have anticipated his grumbling protest when she pulled him to one side before they even sat down.

“You said we could have breakfast with them,” said Yasha under her breath, “and an implicit part of that arrangement is playing nicely.” _Playing nicely_ and _playing rough_ were the only two of Molly’s regular metaphors that Yasha felt she fully understood, so she tended to use them when she felt like she wasn’t getting through to him.

“I _have_ been playing nicely,” Molly said.

Yasha tapped him on the sternum with her knuckles, and stepped in closer as Beau made her way by. “The first thing you did when you saw Beau this morning was yell at her. And you yelled at her last night. I heard that too.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “I have not been yelling. I have been calling out.”

“It’s the same thing,” said Yasha, because it was, “and she clearly doesn’t like it.”

“I don’t think it’s that clean cut. I think you’re projecting because you don’t like to be called out to.”

“Yelled at.” Yasha regretted the sharpness in her hushed voice, even if Molly took it in his stride. She could feel herself getting flustered. Was her request that unreasonable?

“Semantics.” Molly touched three fingers to Yasha’s collarbone. _Everything’s okay_ , it meant. Yasha shook her head. She didn’t feel like everything was okay. Molly was the one who had orchestrated this whole situation so that Yasha could make friends, why was he now sabotaging it?

Molly looked lost in thought. After a few moments he blinked, tapped her collar bone again, and asked, “You know that you can still be friends with Beau, even if she and I don’t get along?”

And there it was, the thread to pull on that neatly unravelled the whole problem. Molly wasn’t trying to sabotage. He just didn’t get on with Beau. But Beau and Yasha could still be friends, because of course they could.

“Okay,” said Yasha, the anger leaving her completely.

Molly noticed the change. “Yasha?” he said, a request of clarification more than concern.

“I said okay.”

Molly stepped back, presumably to see her properly, given the way he looked her up and down once he did. “Okay, as in _that’s what was bothering me_?”

Yasha nodded. “Yes.”

“And there was nothing else?” Molly lolled his head to one side. She knew at once that he was genuinely concerned about her, and she felt briefly stupid for thinking otherwise.

Yasha reach out and touched his collarbone. _Everything’s okay_. “No, that was it,” she said aloud.

Molly clasped his hands together, and quickly donned an excited expression. “Well then, it’s settled. I’ll sit with Beau, and you can sit with the pretty blue-haired girl, hmm?”

Yasha wasn’t sure if she had missed something in that transition, or if this was just Molly being Molly. But that arrangement suited her fine, so she nodded in agreement.

They seated themselves, Yasha beside Jester and Molly beside Beau. Jester immediately launched into an analysis of every type of breakfast pastry she had tried. Yasha appreciated that Fjord appeared just as baffled by it as Yasha was. Jester seemed happy, though, and Yasha was content enough with that.

Molly eventually caught Yasha’s eye across the table, and she temporarily pulled herself away from Jester’s antics. Molly arched his eyebrows for less than a second. Yasha knew the words that accompanied it, although he usually reserved this gesture for when he thought she was building up to a fit of pique, not after. _How do you feel?_ it asked.

Yasha simply smiled, and she had been friends with Molly long enough that she knew he could take her meaning.

Breakfast was good. The food was nothing special, but Yasha wasn’t fussy. And Jester’s verboseness removed any need to provide more than the occasional murmur or movement of the head.

When the meal was over, Molly went with Jester to do the dishes. Beau too, quickly retreated before Yasha could say anything to her. That left Nott, Caleb, and Fjord.

“Well, the good news is, the way meals are shaping up there is no chance of getting salmonella from undercooking,” said Caleb. “Also, Nott, if you could please take that silverware over to the washing up station, that would be great.”

Yasha wasn’t sure what silverware Caleb was referring to until Nott spoke up. “You’re a killjoy, you know that?” she said, pulling a couple of spoons out of her pocket. She pushed her chair back loudly and stalked off the kitchen.

Fjord leaned back, running his hand through his hair so that it was standing up a bit. “She’s good. I didn’t even see that,” said Fjord. It was unclear if he was impressed or worried.

Caleb flushed ever so slightly. “You two won’t, uh, mention that to anyone will you?” he said, “She’s normally a lot better than this, she just gets nervous with all the new people.”

“I understand. I’m also nervous,” said Yasha. The two men nodded.

“It’s just, you know, spoons and things when she’s nervous? Not anything more… significant?” said Fjord.

Caleb shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“Right, right. And not that it’s any of my business, of course,” said Fjord.

“I understand your concern,” said Caleb. He looked frustrated, maybe with Fjord, maybe with Nott.

“The vodka, that’s part of the nerves too?” said Yasha. Caleb twisted his full torso to her. She recognised the body language, even in a stranger. “Oh, I overstepped.”

“You did,” said Caleb, which was at least clear. Yasha clutched The Magician’s Judge.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it, did you Yasha?” Fjord prompted. Yasha nodded.

Caleb had a finger against his lip. Self-silencing. He dropped his hand and said, “You tell me if she’s drinking. Don’t stop her, just tell me. Understood?”

“Okay,” said Yasha. Caleb was smaller than her, but he seemed ever so slightly unhinged for reasons Yasha couldn’t articulate, and she didn’t want to be on his bad side. The expression on Fjord’s face seemed to confirm this was a good plan.

Caleb, like most people who weren’t Molly, did not immediately bounce back. He continued to scowl, his arms folded. When Nott returned, she barely had chance to draw breath before Caleb stole her away. Nott waved quickly to Yasha as she was practically dragged along, while Caleb threw back one final glare.

Yasha released The Magician’s Judge and continued to nurse the final dregs of her chemical-flavoured coffee. “I also like vodka, I just didn’t think it would have helped things to say so,” Yasha told Fjord.

It wasn’t a joke, but Fjord laughed. Perhaps it was just the break in the tension. He wasn’t laughing _at_ Yasha, though, so that was fine. “Me too,” he said, not specifying if he meant the vodka or the unhelpfulness. “Don’t worry about Caleb. I reckon that right there was how he expresses his nervousness.”

Yasha nodded. “Makes sense.”

Jester appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and gestured for Fjord to come over. “Alright, duty calls,” said Fjord. “I wanted to ask you though, I’m going into town tomorrow. Can I get you to come with, act as muscle?”

“Muscle as in carrying things or muscle as in fighting people?”

Fjord smiled with his mouth but made confused eyebrows. “Preferably carrying things,” he said.

“Okay,” said Yasha, pleased.

“Okay? You think Molly can spare you for a day?” said Fjord.

“Molly is very brave, and I think perhaps he could survive a few daylight hours without me,” said Yasha. That _was_ a joke, and it _did_ get a laugh, which was gratifying to say the least.

“Fjord!” yelled Jester from the doorway.

“Coming!” said Fjord, “Thanks Yasha, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” said Yasha, her chest warm. “See you later, Fjord.”

Molly reappeared shortly thereafter. “Someone looks happy,” he said, referring to Yasha, she had to presume.

“I think Fjord wants to be friends. He helped me with Caleb just then, and he asked if I could help him in town tomorrow.”

“What happened with Caleb?” said Molly.

“I offended him,” said Yasha, knowing that explaining her transgression in detail would mean repeating it.

Molly shrugged. He offended people all the time. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. But remember, you can still be friends with Nott, even if you don’t get on with Caleb.”

“I know,” said Yasha, with lightly irritated that her breakdown not an hour ago had already been turned into ammunition for Molly’s teasing. “I think that Caleb with warm up, thought. He’s just nervous.” Molly nodded for her to elaborate. “Nott was doing some strange things, and Caleb said it was because she was nervous. But she didn’t seem nervous, so I think maybe Caleb was projecting. Fjord agrees.”

“Nott could still be nervous, and just good at hiding it.”

“Or they could both be nervous.”

“That’s true,” said Molly. “Shall we go freshen up, and then we can go rescue Nott from Caleb, start going over plans for the campers together?”

Yasha smiled. “Yes, please.”

Yasha returned to her cabin, unsurprised to find both that Nott was absent and that her side of the room looked like a bomb had gone off. Knowing exactly how long Molly would take to “freshen up”, Yasha opted to sit on her bed and start a few braids in her hair. Nothing too fancy- Molly wouldn’t want the competition- but Yasha still wanted to make an effort if she had the wherewithal. Unlike much else with her appearance, having her hair how she liked it made Yasha just a little bit braver, and she figured that any extra confidence wasn’t going to go amiss at the moment.

“Who are you dressed up for?” Molly asked immediately upon returning to collect her. He knew Yasha too well.

“Who are you dressed up for?” Yasha parroted, indicating the finger waves in his hair that hadn’t even had a chance to set properly yet. He’d done an outfit change too, his latest floral button down opened maybe one button lower than was proper.

“This is for everyone, my dear friend,” said Molly. “It’s practically a community service.”

“Peacock,” said Yasha. Someone had called Molly that once, and every time Yasha said it Molly would smile, just like he did now.

“See, what did I say last night? _Blossoming._ ” Molly leaned against the doorframe. “Anyway, I can’t find Nott. I had hoped she’d be in your room, given she wasn’t in Caleb’s room, but looks like we’re out of luck.”

Nott was, in fact, nowhere to be found for about twenty minutes. Yasha got in all the cardio she needed for the day while looking: walking up the hill to the mess hall, down the trail to the sports field (where she spotted Beau in the distance under a tree), up and across to the carpark, and then all the way back around to her cabin.

Just as Molly and Yasha re-convened, Nott rounded the corner. “Sorry guys,” said Nott breathlessly. “Caleb lost Frumpkin _and_ his team time binder, so he was in a bit of a state. We were running around for ages trying to find them.”

“Frumpkin?’ said Yasha.

“It’s his, you know, cat,” said Nott.

“CAT?” said Yasha. Nott looked startled. “Sorry. Cat?” she said at a more reasonable volume.

Nott pulled on one of her earlobes. “It’s not, you know, a real cat.”

“It’s imaginary?”

“No, it’s, you know-” Nott was saying _you know_ a lot about things Yasha clearly didn’t know. “-stuffed. It’s a toy.”

“Oh, okay,” said Yasha, relieved. A toy cat was a lot less worrying than the idea of a real cat wandering around the campsite. What would it eat? What if it got stuck somewhere? What if the kids were rough with it?

“How do you lose a toy cat?” said Molly. That was also a fair question.

“It fell out of his pocket sometime between last night and the way to breakfast,” said Nott.

“How big is it?” said Yasha. Nott indicated size slightly larger than one of Yasha’s fists.

“Does he sleep with it?” said Molly, a huge grin on his face.

Nott’s entire body tensed. “If you give him any shit about the cat, I’ll gut you like one, you understand?”

Molly threw up both hands. _Woah there._ Nott either didn’t understand or, more likely, it didn’t make a difference in her mind, because she continued to stand with her first clenched, body tipped slightly forward. Yasha felt fairly confident that she could take Nott hand-to-hand if it came down to it, but she didn’t like Molly’s chances quite as much.

“I meant no disrespect, Miss Nott,” said Molly. Yasha nodded in confirmation.

Nott gritted her teeth. “I don’t care what you meant, just don’t do it.”

Molly said nothing in reply, which was as close as he got to conceding. Nott was clearly smart enough to recognise a win, because she reigned herself back in with a satisfied snort.

“Does Caleb use Frumpkin as a…” Yasha couldn’t find the words she wanted, so she pulled out The Magician’s Judge and gestured to it.

Nott’s dissipating anger mixed with a look of perplexation. “No, it’s a stuffed cat, you can’t use it as a knife.”

“I think Yasha is asking if it’s like a comfort object, if he’s carrying it around because he’s nervous,” Molly was thankfully able to translate.

“I don’t know, I think he just likes it,” said Nott, folding her arms. “That’s enough about the cat now.”

“I told you he was nervous,” Yasha said, excited by her correct read of the situation. Molly shook his head but the side of his mouth twitched as if wanting to copy Yasha’s grin.

Nott raised an eyebrow, and Yasha realised that she hadn’t given any context to the younger leader. “I told Molly that Caleb seemed nervous around the new people,” said Yasha, although the clarification did not make Nott drop her eyebrow.

“Okay, final question: how did he lose the binder?” said Molly.

Nott gave a loud sigh. “He fell asleep reading it. It slipped down the side of his bed.”

“God, what a nerd,” said Molly.

Nott bristled again. “Shut up.”

Yasha did her best to make the expression that meant _too much_. Molly seemingly understood, and recanted. “All I mean to say is that he is far more committed to having his paperwork in order than I would ever be.” Molly clapped his hands together. “Speaking of which, did either of you two print out the team time booklets?”

Yasha shook her head. “Nope,” said Nott.

Molly clapped his hands again, this time not looking quite as excited. “Well, in that case, it’s back up to the top of the hill for us all, because my phone gets no reception down here.”

Yasha and Nott groaned.


	9. Splinters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write this instead of working on the two assignments I have due Wednesday? Perhaps, but you cannot prove that.
> 
> Also, as an update on my progress in the actual show (which atm I mainly watch while I'm writing code for my assignments shhh it's productive): I'm just at the point where it switches from the 80s thumbnails to the ones where they're Disney-bounding (or whatever the generic term for that is) as their own characters. I super loved the first 51 thumbnails, but these post-51 thumbnails are just violently delightful, really hit me directly where the dopamine is made. Also, they will maybe inspire some looks for the fanfic, who knows.
> 
> Also also, I have made a list of song lyrics I could use as future chapter titles down the bottom of my master word doc. I am playing a dangerous game, and it is not a matter of if but when.
> 
> Hope to be writing more soon, and I hope you enjoy!

“Twelve is so many kids, when you actually look at the list properly,” said Jester.

“It just feels like a lot because the littler ones need so much tending to,” said Fjord, although he looked pretty overwhelmed as well. “But shout out to young…” Fjord traced his line across the page to the listed name, “… _Kiri_ for being the only one that doesn’t homesickness listed as a concern.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a concern,” said Jester.

“Just let me have this,” said Fjord.

The two of them had taken over a picnic table near the mess hall. Either it had never been painted or the paint had long ago peeled off, because the wood’s repeated swelling and shrinking from rain and sun had clearly taken its toll. It was structurally sound, sure, but when Fjord had wiped across the tabletop to clear some leaves, he had come away with a handful of splinters.

Jester had jumped up and offered to grab her first-aid kit from the hall, but by then Fjord had already pulled half of the splinters out. Fjord’s hands were fairly big ( _if you know what I mean_ , thought Jester to herself), so she was impressed by his dexterity, particularly without the aid of tweezers.

Fjord seemed almost perplexed by Jester jumping to his aid. She wondered if he was just being tough, or if the splinters actually hadn’t bothered him all that much. Maybe outdoorsy people just got used to that sort of thing.

“I can’t believe there are eight-year-olds that go away for a whole nine weeks,” said Jester. “Nine weeks is so long. _I’m_ going to start missing my mama after nine weeks.”

“Yeah, well, not all of them have mamas to miss,” said Fjord, pointing a finger at _parent/guardian contact details_ column for a few of the kids. “They obviously don’t put this on our information sheet, but I know that we ended up with almost all of the scholarship kids in our age bracket. And while I appreciate the gesture from the higher ups, that adds an extra layer of complexity to things.”

“What do you mean, “appreciate the gesture”?” said Jester.

Fjord ran a hand through his hair. Jester tried not to look at his bicep too much, sensing this might actually be something more serious.

“I was a scholarship kid when I was a camper,” said Fjord, “way back when. I think one of the higher ups may have caught wind, and figured I’m the best choice to look out for them, given I can sympathise.”

Jester twirled her pen around a couple of times. Fjord being a scholarship kid could have meant multiple things, but one was most likely. “You were in foster care?” said Jester.

“Yeah,” said Fjord with a shrug.

“Sorry, that’s a really personal question,” Jester realised out loud.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind you knowing.” Fjord’s tone and body language when he said this carried the sort of nonchalance that came from desensitisation, rather than a genuine indifference. Jester couldn’t help but continue feeling that she’d come on too strong.

“Did you like coming to camp as a kid?” said Jester, when she realised the pause was getting uncomfortably lengthy.

Fjord smiled softly, looking down at the table. “I loved it. Why do you think I’m here now?” He ran a finger along the grain of the wood thoughtfully. That picked up another splinter and he swore, before swiftly removing it.

Jester flashed Fjord her best cheeky grin when he looked back up from his hand. “Were you ever on camp with Beau?” she said, “What was she like?”

Fjord shook his head. “Couldn’t tell you, unfortunately. I missed her when we were campers, and missed her again in my three years off from leading.”

“Oh, boooo,” said Jester, “I needed an inside man, Fjord.” Jester looked down at her list of camper again, briefly trying to imagine what Fjord was like as a kid, and what his row of information might have said.

“Guess you’re going to have to get to know her the old-fashioned way,” said Fjord, “Or you can just grill Norda.” Jester shuddered. “Hey, she’s not that bad.”

“Beau doesn’t like her,” said Jester.

“If Beau jumped off a bridge…” said Fjord, rolling his eyes, which was uncalled for. “Trust me, I know Norda. There’s no bad blood between those two, Norda just has no tolerance for even charming delinquency.”

“So you think Beau’s charming?” teased Jester.

Fjord didn’t take the bait. “Something tells me I’m not her type.”

“What do you think her type is?” Jester tried, with perhaps some success, to make her question sound more like she was nosy than twitterpated.

“I met Beau at the same time you did, Jester, so why don’t you ask her yourself?” Fjord gestured to the papers, “Can we get back to planning how to send these children home with the same number of appendages they arrive with?”

Jester sat straight, and smoothed her dress over her lap. She needed Fjord to know that she wasn’t kidding around. “Fjord, can I ask you… I don’t even know if it’s so much of a question as it is a broad request for any information?”

Fjord looked taken slightly aback. “Uh, sure. As long as it’s still not about Beau.”

Jester shook her head. “I, um, this is my first camp.” Fjord nodded. “I mean, I didn’t go on any as a kid either.”

Fjord smiled warmly. “That’s okay, it’s not a requirement.”

“No, listen,” said Jester, putting up a hand and letting her words tumbling out before she lost the nerve, “I didn’t get out much as a kid. Like at all. Like maybe once every couple of weeks, and always with my mom, and only for an hour or two. And so maybe, I was just wondering if you knew, and you could tell me, what kids are like?” Jester drew a short breath. “You know, normal kids? What to expect?”

“Oh. Okay,” said Fjord.

With that muted response, Jester immediately stumbled to justify herself. “I mean, I’ve met children before, _obviously_ ,” she said, with as much bravado as she could muster, “Just not a lot of them, and not to hang out with for so long. I’m worried that one of them will get upset or something, and I won’t know what to say, because I was never… because I don’t know what it’s like to be on summer camp, you know?”

Jester smoothed her dress again and again, hoping that it didn’t make her look as nervous as she felt. Could Fjord tell that she was embarrassed? Did she want him to know that she was embarrassed? It made sense to be a little embarrassed right? Not too embarrassed, not like she was making a fuss or couldn’t take care of herself, but just a little embarrassed so that she didn’t seem completely oblivious of how things ran in the real world. That amount of embarrassed was fine, good even, right?

Jester looked back up at Fjord. _Why is he just looking at me? Why isn’t he saying anything?_ On instinct, Jester gave a smile and a shrug. _No big deal_ , she told herself.

Fjord shook his head, a smile gradually sneaking onto his face too. “Jester, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but why the hell did you decide to work on a summer camp?”

Jester considered her answer. _I make a lot of decisions that seem like good ideas at the time, and then turn out not to be_ , was what she thought, which was true. “I sort of couldn’t go back to my mom’s house this summer,” was what she said, which was also true.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Fjord.

“Oh, no, me and my mom are fine. I just needed to… not… be there for a while?” Jester began twirling her pen again. “It’s alright. If I don’t know what to do with a kid, I’ll just send them to you.”

“Oh, God, don’t do that!” said Fjord, half amused, and half alarmed, “I won’t last a week!”

Fjord then turned his papers faces down, clearly tabling that part of the discussion for the minute. “I guess if you’re worried about what to do when kids get upset, it’s about hitting the balance between listening and distracting them,” said Fjord. He then thought for a minute, before adding, “Other than that, kids are just kids, you know? Just short people with bad impulse control. You just have to take it as it comes.”

Jester nodded. “Kids are not a monolith. Got it.”

“And, look, even if you didn’t get out much, I’m sure you had adults you liked growing up,” Fjord said, gesturing vaguely to Jester’s person.

He was clearly fishing for information, but Jester was fine with that. They had to have some level of transparency if they were going to work as a team, right? “Sure. Mama had a lot of staff, there was just never any kids.”

“Then, I guess, think about what you liked about them, and why you liked it. You study psych, I’m sure you have enough critical thinking skills to know the difference between adults that were exciting and adults that were trustworthy, and to know which one of those we’re going for here.” Jester nodded. Fjord pause briefly and then added, like it was the most casual thing in the world, “What did you say your mother did again?”

“I didn’t,” said Jester, smiling, although she was unsure for whose benefit. “You’re from the Coast as well, aren’t you?”

“Port Damali,” said Fjord with a nod.

“My mother is the Ruby of the Sea,” said Jester, ripping off the bandaid before Fjord had time to draw breath.

Fjord tilted his head. “Oh. Huh,” he said, which was not a reaction Jester had really seen before. “Staff makes sense, then. Her being famous and all.”

“It wasn’t actually that many staff,” said Jester, somewhere between confessional and defensive. “Just a few people who we– who _she_ trusted to keep things in order so that she could work.”

“Do you sing as well?” probed Fjord again. He was at least polite enough to avoid the crude, obvious questions.

“Not as well as her,” said Jester, her mama’s singing making her feel warm inside at its very mention. Jester missed her so much.

“And was your dad, uh…” Fjord was clearly unsure how to finish.

“It’s complicated,” said Jester, “But from what I can tell, I was planned, if that’s what you’re asking. I never met him, but it sounds to me like he really loved her. She definitely loved him. Things just don’t work out sometimes, I guess.” Jester shrugged.

“You’re an only child?” said Fjord. Jester nodded. “And sounds like you got a lot of time indoors. I’m going to guess you were precocious, then? Big reader?”

Jester shrugged again. “I had to be, otherwise there would have been nothing else to do. Not so much the reading, although probably still more than average. But most of the time I would just paint and draw.”

“Oh yeah, I saw you working yesterday. Impressive.”

“Thanks!” said Jester, always enthused to hear her work appreciated.

Fjord nodded to himself a couple of times, before saying, “I hope I wasn’t being rude or invasive, by the way. I guess I’m just surprised. You’re very personable for someone so, uh, sheltered.”

Jester tapped her pen on the table a few times. “You make the best of what you have, I guess.”

“Of course,” said Fjord. “Speaking of which…” He flipped his papers back over.

Everything was easy after that. Secrets now told, Jester felt she could relax and speak candidly, even though the subject of their own parents and childhoods was no longer relevant to the conversation. It was the principal of the thing, Jester supposed. She knew that Fjord wasn’t going to be creepy or weird about it, if she did want to say anything, and that was enough.

Jester quickly found herself doodling in her journal as she and Fjord had their discussion. It was the pleasant sort of doodling that only happened when she was calm. Caricatures of Beau and Fjord. A bouquet of flowers. A couple of dicks (to balance out the flowers). A bird landed near them and hung around so, what the hell, she sketched that too. Twelve different coloured lollipops, each with one of the kids’ names printed in spiralling letters inside. An attempt to replicate the pattern on the flannelette fitted sheet that Beau had tried to give her. A few more dicks, just for good measure.

It didn’t take them that long to get their paperwork in order. Fjord even gave Jester some help deciphering her own duties roster while they were assessing the team’s, which Jester appreciated. She had no interest in pissing off Beau again, however unfair that reaction had been. Jester, in turn, offered plenty of games and distraction strategies to keep the campers entertained, glowing with pride as she wrote out the rules to the ones Fjord didn’t know. They had found one thing she would be good at, if nothing else.

Fjord had assured her there would be much more she was good at, she just might have to spend some actual time with some campers before they could properly discern her strengths.

Fjord had blocked out the entire morning for team time planning, and with that now complete, he decided to stay outside and use the remaining time to finish up some planning for his elective. “I feel like I’m on a roll with these risk assessments, it would be a shame to waste that,” he joked. Jester, having organised her schedule similarly, and also being largely indifferent to schedules anyway, offered to stay with him.

She lay down on the bench, staring up at the sky and the tree that partially obscured it. She described the shapes of the clouds to a half-listening Fjord, and contentedly drew patterns on her hands and arms with her pen. When Fjord’s phone buzzed, signalling that it was time to go up to the hall to claim their lunch, Jester couldn’t help but feel sad that their meeting was officially over.

“You know that if you draw all over yourself, the kids are going to do it too,” said Fjord when Jester sat up.

Jester beamed, “Does that mean I’m going to be a bad influence?”

Fjord laughed and shook his head, offering her a hand to stand. “It’s more me asking you _not_ to be a bad influence, I suppose. Assuming that you want to attend more than one camp in your lifetime.”

“Maybe,” said Jester, “I’ll think about it.”


	10. Something To Do

Beau hadn’t exactly kept track of time while she and Caleb had been talking, or after he left. For someone who harboured a deep resentment to anyone telling her what to do with her time, Beau found herself strangely listless when left to structure it herself.

She could have worked on her elective planning, but as she had told Jester last night, all she had left to do was her wet-weather plan. All-staff set up duties started tomorrow at the earliest, although Norda would probably be ecstatic if Beau pre-emptively offered her services. They’d only been there one night, so her room was still reasonably in order, but Beau could have at least grabbed a laundry bag for her and Jester’s room.

She could have tried to memorise her campers’ names. She could have offered to help make lunch. She could have gone to find Molly so she could start a fistfight with him. It wasn’t so much that there was nothing to do, as much as there was nothing she could find the will to do. So Beau sat under the tree, pulling up blades of grass and thinking about girls- her default setting.

Beau had nearly picked a foot-wide radius around her clean when she finally considered checking the time on her phone. Lunch had started fifteen minutes ago. Of course.

Beau made her way up the hill as quickly as she could, although she paused for a moment to make sure she didn’t seem out of breath when she entered. Everyone would see that she was late, but she could convince them that she had meant to be late. This was her choice.

Beau assembled a sandwich from the available ingredients and made her way over to where the rest of the Tuesday group was sitting. She supposed, at this point, these were her people. Even if they weren’t, the table with both Jester and Yasha at it would have been too good to resist trying.

Everyone looked up in surprise when Beau approached, dragging a chair. “Miss Beau!” said Molly, “Caleb retired to his chambers to dine, so to speak, and we’d assumed you’d done the same.”

The last thing Beau had wanted was for someone to remark on her tardiness, least of all Molly. “Don’t call me _Miss Beau_ ,” said Beau, more irritably than she’d perhaps intended.

Strangely, Molly looked hurt. Like, maybe he was actually, genuinely hurt by her request. Beau looked to Yasha in confusion, before realising that enigma of a woman wasn’t going to offer her much clarity either.

Molly said nothing more, just went back to eating. Everyone else was quiet as well. _Great._ Beau really knew how to kill a mood. Fine, whatever, it was nothing she hadn’t done before. Beau began wolfing down her sandwich, eager to remove herself from this situation as soon as possible.

That strategy was a bust as well, apparently. “Did they not feed you growing up?” said Fjord. Beau stopped and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Got a lot of siblings you had to compete with? You eat like your damn meals are gonna get whipped out from under you.”

Beau swallowed her penultimate mouthful. “I’ve got things to do,” she said. She certainly wasn’t about to offer her autobiography.

“I’m sure you do,” said Molly.

Beau stuffed the final corner of her sandwich into her mouth to avoid having to come up with a good retort.

“Lollipop?” said Jester tentatively once Beau was finished. She held out a wrapped lollipop with a stick that matched the one in her own mouth.

Beau took it quickly, which probably seemed more like snatching. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Jester.

“Well… we’ll be leaving you two with Little Miss Sunshine over here,” said Molly, as he and Yasha both stood.

Clearly not one for long goodbyes, Molly was out of the building seconds later. Oddly enough, Yasha didn’t follow him, instead lingering at the table and looking at Beau. Her hair had the small braids along one side now. When had she done that? How had Beau not already noticed?

“What Molly means to say… What he _should_ say is that he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to offend you,” said Yasha.

Beau didn’t say anything, instead unwrapping the lollipop and sticking it in her mouth. Yasha stood and watched awkwardly, and Beau did feel sort of bad, but she didn’t know what else to do. 

Fjord groaned. “Damn it, Beau, don’t make me ask _what do you say?_ like you’re one of the campers.”

If Fjord was looking for a reaction, he got it. Beau could feel the furnace in her stomach rise in heat alongside her volume. “She’s apologising on behalf of Molly, who isn’t even here,” Beau said, gesturing to Yasha with her lollipop. “And this isn’t about killing the messenger, who is pleasant enough of both words and of face. This is about me maybe wanting to hear it from Molly.” Beau shook her head. “Not that I need an apology from Molly, or anyone else. If he wants to get upset that I don’t like being called “Miss” then that’s his problem.”

Beau leaned back, balancing on the back two legs of the chair. Looking over at her now, Yasha was no longer an enigma. She looked distinctly troubled. Fjord and Jester were both staring at Beau too, because people really can’t look away from car crashes.

Why did she let Molly get under her skin like that? Why couldn’t she just accept Yasha’s ultimately meaningless apology and move on? Why did she always do this? _Idiot. Fucking idiot._ She’d known these people for barely 24 hours and clearly even that was more than she deserved.

Yasha eventually broke the silence. “You’re in a bad mood?”

“Take a guess,” said Beau, lamely. She wasn’t mad at Yasha really, or Fjord, or even Molly. She was mad at herself for thinking that she could actually do this, that she could actually be a normal person who had a group of friends she sat with for lunch and who didn’t immediately blow up at the first sign of conflict.

The word _why_ formed on Yasha’s lips, but she didn’t say it out loud. Beau would have liked to know the answer to that question too, actually.

Jester frowned. “Did the meeting with Caleb not go well? He didn’t seem upset when he was in to grab his food.”

Beau looked away. “The meeting was fine. I guess I’m just an asshole,” said Beau, slamming the chair back down onto four legs for emphasis. A few heads turned to her, but who cares?

“Now, Beau, you know camp rules,” said Fjord, wagging his finger in a way that was optimised to irritate her. “You’re _acting_ like an asshole, you asshole.”

Beau grabbed Fjord’s finger to stop him, but something about Fjord’s lame joke took the fire out of her. Maybe it was because he seemed to know it was lame. Maybe it was because it had been her joke first. Maybe it was because he had neither denied that Beau was an asshole nor seemed bothered by the possibility.

“Don’t wag your finger at me,” said Beau. She was as surprised as everyone else when her words came out calm and even, devoid of even her standard level of snark and bite.

Fjord wagged his finger again, taking Beau’s hand with it. Beau threw her other hand on top as well, irritation giving way to a singular determination to beat him at his own game, to keep him still. The two of them wrestled for a minute, Fjord reaching in to support his wrist with his other hand as Beau stood to bore down with her full body weight.

It was only when Beau looked Fjord in the eye that she realised she’d been had. He was watching her face, her mouth specifically. Her mouth, which was beginning to twitch up at the sides. Fjord was messing around, roughhousing even, and waiting for her to cheer up. Waiting for her to smile.

Jester, never one to be left out, threw both her hands on the pile as well. Fjord shook his head and admitted defeat, claiming to be outnumbered. Beau pulled away too.

Yasha was still standing off to one side, hands in her pockets. Beau turned to her. “You’ve never offended me. Molly didn’t offend me. I’m just a belligerent asshole.” It wasn’t an apology, but Molly had clearly established himself as not the apologising type either, so Yasha seemed to understand.

The matter being resolved, everyone split up to go about their afternoon’s work. Beau retreated to her cabin so that she could lay down on her bed to complete the paperwork she had been putting off. She was suddenly, but not unusually exhausted, and may have dosed a little, but mostly she spent the afternoon inching painfully through the red tape.

Beau didn’t check the time. She knew well enough when it was dinner time when she looked out the window and saw people wandering uphill to the mess hall again. She knew well enough that it was over by the reverse action. Beau wasn’t hungry. It was her choice not to go.

“Beau?”

Beau turned over to where Jester was leaning the doorway. Jester flipped the light off and then on again, largely keeping the movement concealed in her elbow. “Not bad,” said Beau.

“I would have practiced more today, but you seemed busy in here,” said Jester, sitting down on her bed. “Are you alright? You didn’t come for dinner.”

“I’m fine,” said Beau, “Just wasn’t hungry.”

“Still, we missed you,” said Jester.

Distain bubbled out of Beau before she could stop it. “Sure you did, I am a delight to be around.”

“You are when you’re not sulking,” said Jester, tucking her flat sheet back in haphazardly as she spoke.

“I’m not sulking. I’m tired,” said Beau, in a tone that really did make it sound like she was sulking.

Jester didn’t argue back, but she didn’t look like she believed Beau either. Beau didn’t have the energy to debate the issue, regardless.

“Maybe we should turn in, then,” said Jester.

“We?”

Jester shrugged. “I’m not going to sit around and draw in the dark.”

“Hall’s still open,” said Beau, “or you could go hang out in Fjord’s cabin. There’s no campers around to witness the hypocrisy yet.”

“I was with Fjord all morning,” said Jester. “Also, Caleb is in there, and he has a bad case of the wild eyes, which is kind of off-putting.”

“Caleb’s pretty okay, actually,” said Beau, “I mean, obviously he’s damaged goods, but aren’t we all?”

“No?” said Jester, tilting her head like a confused puppy. Beau squinted in reply. To be fair, if Beau and Caleb were classic damaged goods, Jester definitely screamed ‘excessively bubble-wrapped’ more than anything else.

Beau gestured vaguely. “You know what I mean.” She sat up and began to stack her papers. Clearly no more work was getting done, one way or another.

“Have you worked out your wet weather plan?” asked Jester.

“Not really,” said Beau. She looked up, and Jester was halfway through disrobing. _A little warning might have been nice!_ Beau turned away and began tapping the stack of papers to neaten them.

“You don’t have to turn around,” said Jester.

“Oh, no, it’s cool.” Beau really was fine with it. Staring at the papers was a lot easier than working out where to look when she was facing Jester, clothed or otherwise.

Jester, for whatever reason, was less satisfied with this state of play. “I know you’re a lesbian, Beau,” she said in a tone that was either irritated or teasing.

Beau scoffed. She had never aimed to be cryptic about that. “Yeah, and?”

Jester huffed loudly. “And we’re not a in middle school. I’m not going to scream if you don’t fully turn your back to me and cover your face with a sweater and continually apologise for your gay existence or whatever.”

“Who said this is a gay middle school trauma thing?” said Beau defensively. It was definitely a gay middle school trauma thing, but that was beside the point.

“No one. I’m just saying you don’t have to be weird.”

Beau rolled her eyes and continued stacking the papers. “Just finish getting changed, Jester.”

“I’ll finish getting changed once you stop making it weird and turn around.”

Beau couldn’t believe she was having this argument. “You’re the one asking me to look at you while you’re getting changed.” Beau could feel her volume rising out of her control for the second time today. “ _You’re_ the one that’s making it weird.”

“Turn around, Beau,” said Jester, in what Beau suspected was her best impression of a serious voice.

“No. This is stupid.”

“Turn around.”

“Literally just put some pants on. We don’t have to fight about this.”

“Turn around.”

“No!” Beau couldn’t tell if her face was hot because of frustration or because of… _Stupid, dumb lesbian._ But still, what the hell was Jester’s problem?

Jester took a deep breath and played what she obviously thought was her trump card. “My mom has sex for money, Beau.”

Beau tilted her head just slightly over her shoulder, only to show that she was listening. “Okay. And?” she said, the residual frustration still lingering in her voice.

There was the sound of Jester sitting back down on her bed. “And when you grow up with that, you see things. You see certain men, who look at your mom a certain way. And it’s not, you know, _that_ certain way where they just saw her sing and now they're infatuated and they want to have sex with her and-”

Beau held up hand and cut Jester off. “Your experiences are not relatable, and you still don’t have any pants on, so please get to the point.”

This drew another huff from Jester. “ _I mean_ the certain men who look at her and they don’t see a person. They just see a body, and a voice, and hands, and hair, and a mouth.” There was a quiet fury in Jester's voice, and she paused to collect herself before continuing. “And I haven’t known you very long, Beau, but I know that you would never look at me, or at any other person like that.”

Beau didn’t move. She didn’t know what to say to that at all. Beau hoped Jester was right, of course, but it seemed very presumptuous of her to make a declaration like that after knowing Beau for two, three days if you also counted training.

“I’m sorry,” said Beau eventually.

Jester sounded confused again. “For what?”

“For your mom, I guess? And that you had to see that?”

Beau could hear the smile creep into Jester’s voice. “Oh, don’t worry. I used to love watching security kicking those shitbags out.”

“That does sound pretty fun.”

Jester made an approving noise, probably to show that she had heard, but otherwise fell silent. Her point was made. Beau heard Jester stand again and go back to preparing for bed. Beau sighed, put her papers down, and turned to look at Jester.

As Beau had both suspected and feared, Jester was just as, if not more gorgeous in a state of undress than she was fully clothed. Jester’s smug, victorious grin certainly wasn’t doing anything to help the matter.

Beau rolled her wrists into a defeated shrug. “Happy?” she asked flatly.

“Very,” said Jester, unclasping her bra and pulling it out from under her loose pyjama shirt. Her hair had been deflated by the heat of the day and presumably further mussed by removing her top, making it look surprisingly shaggy. Surprising also was the sizable tattoo on Jester’s hip, now only partially obscured by her underwear.

“Are you religious or something?” said Beau, pointing to the door tattoo. She vaguely recognised the iconography, but couldn’t match it to the correct deity in her head.

“Or something,” said Jester. “Also, I’m going to sleep without pants tonight just to spite you.”

Beau shrugged, doing her best to cover her racing heart with a deadpan quip. “I hope we have a fire drill and you live to regret that decision.”

“Oh yeah?” said Jester, which seemed to be her default reaction to banter.

Unexpectedly, Jester took a large step towards Beau which, in the cramped cabin, left them practically on top of each other. More alarming still, Jester leaned down so that her face and the seated Beau's were barely an inch from each other. Beau felt herself freeze, unable to break from Jester’s intense gaze.

Then, in one fast motion, Jester reached forward and tweaked Beau’s nose with the knuckles of her index and middle finger.

“Ow!” Beau instinctively shoved the giggling Jester away from her and covered her face. If anything, that made Jester giggle more, and reminded Beau of how surprisingly muscular Jester was. “That hurt!” said Beau, as if it needed saying.

“Not so tough and scary now, huh?” said Jester, still unable to tamper her glee even as she stumbled backwards.

Beau threw her pillow and Jester, hard, but that just made her laugh louder. “Glad you think it’s funny,” said Beau. “First the exhibitionism, now the physical assault. Some roommate you’re turning out to be.”

Jester sat down cross-legged on her bed, her laughter quieter but not gone. She pulled out her journal and began to sketch manically.

“And yet somehow not the worst roommate I’ve had,” added Beau, which was true. Jester looked up from her work for a split second to poke her tongue out at Beau, and then dove right back into her journaling.

Beau prepared for bed quietly, and lay down to sleep without turning the lights off.


	11. You Are A Call To Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Movement by Hozier
> 
> The siren song of intertextuality was too strong for me. Not all chapter titles will be lyrics but you should all none the less mentally prepare yourselves. Also, I will be listing the song the lyric is from, because I go a particular kind of feral when I read a fic title that is clearly a song lyric but I have to work excessively hard to track down the song for Full Context(TM).
> 
> Alright, hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

There was a wood and wire fence at the bottom of the hill that separated the lake district from the rest of the campsite. This was presumably more symbolic than anything, because realistically even a determined eight-year-old could have scaled the gate.

Yasha sat on said gate for maybe forty-five minutes after sunrise, messing around with The Magician’s Judge, before Beau appeared.

“Oh! Yasha!” Beau said, rubbing one eye. She seemed surprised, but not upset. “Have you been sitting here long?”

Yasha nodded. “Yes, but that’s my fault for not asking you what time you were going to run.”

Beau yawned, and then laughed sheepishly. “I didn’t realise you were going to join me _today_. I would have spent a lot less time sitting in my cabin on my phone if I had known that I was keeping you waiting.” Beau rubbed her eyes again, and between that and the yawning, Yasha was fairly sure that Beau had in fact not been awake for as long as she was trying to imply.

“It’s okay,” said Yasha, closing The Magician’s Judge. Beau made the face that meant she was pretending not to be impressed (Yasha had discussed this at length with both Molly and Nott), so Yasha opened the balisong again, using a more complex combination than last time.

 _Show-off_. Yasha could practically feel Molly’s breath against her ear as she imagined his teasing. Beau, for her part, deigned to actually look impressed this time.

Yasha closed The Magician’s Judge again, this time stowing it. “Do you have the key?” she said, indicating the padlock on the gate.

“Oh, no, I just jump.” Beau placed both hands on the gate and leaped over in one motion, swinging her legs to the side and pushing down on the gate for height.

_Show-off._

Yasha climbed over the gate a little less performatively, although she hoped with not less grace. Yasha didn’t realise until she’d accidentally rejected it, but Beau offered her a hand to assist. Not that Yasha needed it, but it was sweet of Beau all the same. That was her general opinion of Beau, Yasha decided. Considerably rough around the edges, but sweet.

The lake was white as it reflected the full force of the morning sun. It was so bright that Yasha wondered if one could get a sunburn just from the light off the lake. The trees thinned out as they got closer to the shore. There was a pier off to the right that jutted out into the lake, extremely visible now because of the way it blocked the sun.

Beau gestured off to their left. “Track starts there.” Beau then motioned with two fingers, indicating the winding path of the track, and jabbed to emphasise a different gap in the treeline off to their left. “Ends here. I go the short way, normally takes me about half an hour if I’m not overdoing it.”

“Okay,” said Yasha.

Beau shed her jacket and immediately began shivering in the cool breeze coming off the water. “Do you run much?”

“Not really,” said Yasha, “Not for the sake of it.”

Beau rolled her shoulders and shook herself out. The brisk air had clearly woken her up. “Some of the girls I used to fight for tournaments were massive. I swear one girl I sparred with when I was, I think, sixteen was taller and broader than you. Scout’s honour.” Yasha had no idea what that last part meant, but she nodded. “I never stood a chance going on brute force, so I decided I had to get fast, because they can’t hit you if they can’t catch you." Beau shook herself out again. "That’s also my life motto.”

“They can’t hit you if they can’t catch you?” Yasha repeated.

“Yep.” Beau took a swig from her water bottle.

Yasha reached out and punched Beau in the shoulder.

Beau spat water and yowled like a cut cat. “Ow! I wasn’t ready!” She glowered at Yasha, rubbing her arm.

Yasha laughed. “That much was clear.”

Beau threw her water bottle on top of her jacket, muttering something about all the girls on this camp being too violent. She then rolled her eyes and put an earbud in one ear. “Are you ready?” she said. Yasha nodded, and Beau nodded back. “Okay, sing out if I’m leaving you behind.”

It turned out that Beau was not all talk. She was _fast_ , and she made that speed look effortless. Even with her longer strides Yasha was struggling to keep pace. The uneven terrain, while not anything Yasha hadn’t experienced before, made it hard to find a rhythm that would let her tune out the burning in her lungs. Beau ducked and weaved, sidestepping tree roots and overhead branches with relative ease, but Yasha found herself aggressed by vegetation more than once.

Beau at least had the decency to look out of breath when they remerged from the trail. She gulped down some water, unscrewed the top, and offered Yasha the rest. Yasha drank, and Beau picked some foliage out of Yasha’s hair, grinning. “Not bad,” she said.

“I won’t be joining you tomorrow,” said Yasha between heaving breaths, “I won’t have recovered.”

Beau began to coil her headphones. “Okay, but don’t come crying to me when your muscles get all stiff. Showers?” Yasha nodded. She was fairly sure that every part of her was covered in a layer of sweat and tree pollen.

Beau jogged up to the gate and vaulted it again. Yasha had no idea where all that energy came from. Beau watched expectantly as Yasha continued over at reasonable pace and climbed the gate, her quads and calves complaining vehemently as she did.

The steepness of the campsite’s hill had already been something of a nuisance, but now the assent felt agonising. By the time they reached the green cabins Yasha was almost tempted not to continue up to the showers at all. But Beau offered to wait while Yasha retrieved her things, and Yasha was fairly sure waiting wouldn’t improve the experience of scaling the hill, so she ducked into her cabin to grab her toiletries and some clothes for the day.

Nott was sitting on her bed, surrounded by buttons. She appeared to be halfway through sorting them by colour. “Good morning,” said Yasha.

Nott held out a button to Yasha. “Is this more red or purple?” she said.

Yasha turned away from her drawers towards Nott and squinted. “Red.”

“Alright,” said Nott, putting the button in what was clearly the purple pile.

Yasha scoffed indignantly, collected the last few things and said, “I’m going to have a shower.”

“Okay, have fun,” said Nott, fully engrossed.

Jester was out on the veranda of the yellow cabin when Yasha emerged. She waved excitedly when she saw Yasha. She looked like she wanted to shout out too, but Beau already had a finger raised to her lips in warning. Still, Yasha found having someone so excited to greet her almost made the trek up to the next set of cabins bearable.

Beau went inside to get her things. Jester, while initially seated on the railing, hooked her ankles on the bars beneath and leaned backwards, sliding her feet up the bars towards the rail, until her fingers were dangling maybe another forearm’s length from the slope below. “Did you and Beau go running?” said Jester.

“Yes,” said Yasha, “You’re very flexible.” Yasha leaned over and poked Jester in the stomach. Jester curled up, swatting Yasha’s hand away good naturedly, before dropping back to her hanging position.

“Did you have fun?” said Jester.

“I think Beau had fun. I survived, and that's what counts.” Yasha, ever the scientist, poked Jester again and garnished the same reaction. “She is a much better runner than me.”

“You could probably bench-press her though. She’s pretty lean.” Yasha poked Jester a third time and Jester grew feistier, landing a slap that actually smarted a little. “Stop it! I’m going to fall!” Jester protested.

Beau emerged. “Then don’t hang off the damn rail. Also, wake up the whole camp, why don’t you?”

Jester folded her arms and repeated in deeper, mocking cadence that Yasha supposed was parodying Beau’s, “Don’t hang off the rails, Jester. Do the dishes, Jester. Tuck your flat sheet in, Jester.” Jester rocked her head back and forth as she said this, her blue hair fanning out further with every shake.

“I don’t sound like that!” said Beau, immediately flushing.

“Yes, you do!” Jester whined.

Beau blushed deeper still, looking to Yasha for support. “I don’t sound like that, do I?”

Yasha held up two hands. _Woah_. “This seems like a domestic dispute. I don’t want to be involved.”

Beau scowled filthily. “We’re going to shower, Jester. Try not to break your neck.”

Jester didn’t say anything, maintaining her arms crossed, upside-down position.

“See you later, Jester,” said Yasha, as Beau turned and began stalking away.

“Bye, Yasha!” said Jester with a passive-aggressive uptake in cheeriness.

Catching up to Beau was excruciating, and she didn't make recovery any easier as she continued moving up the hill at full tilt. “Can you believe her?” fumed Beau.

Yasha paused. “Uh, no?”

Yasha hadn’t known Beau for long, but she knew her type. The surge of anger she was displaying was largely hot air and ego. She kicked some gravel loose as they walked, clenched her fists, but she was not threatening. Or at least, Yasha didn’t find her to be.

“Molly tries to irritate me sometimes too,” Yasha offered sympathetically, “Tries to get a reaction. The fighting doesn’t bother him, and the making up he likes.”

Beau looked startled. “What?” she said eventually. They were at the door to the staff bathroom now.

“Molly is also frustrating,” Yasha repeated, allowing Beau through the door first, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like me. Sometimes it’s him trying to show that he likes me.”

“Why would I care if Jester and I like each other?” Beau took the laundry bag labelled _2A_ off the shelf. Yasha did the same with the one for 3A.

“Because you have to live with her for nine weeks?” said Yasha, perplexed, “And I thought you two were friends.”

“We don’t have to be,” said Beau, hanging her fresh clothes on a hook in what seemed to be a well-rehearsed order.

Yasha shrugged. “I guess not, no.”

“I haven’t even known her that long. Maybe she sucks once you get to know her, and this is just the beginning of that.”

Yasha frowned, unconvinced. “Or you are both two days into living with a virtual stranger, and that’s a difficult thing?”

“I’ve lived with strangers plenty of times.” Beau slid her feet into her flip-flops and shoved her socks somewhat aggressively into her laundry bag. “Boarding school brat,” Beau clarified, indicating herself.

“And was that a good experience for you?”

There was a pause, before Beau groaned, tilting her head back. “Jester’s supposed to be the psychologist, not you.”

“I’m right, then?” said Yasha.

Beau stomped off to one of the shower stalls without replying. Yasha did the same, although with less stomping.

Yasha wouldn’t have expected Beau to take longer than her to shower, but perhaps she was using it as a space to think. In the meantime, Yasha half-dressed and pulled her hair up into a haphazard bun. With only a towel wrapped around her torso, so that she had as much access to her top half as was decent, Yasha stood at the mirror began slathering herself in sunscreen. The sun was so much harsher out west, and the last thing she wanted was to introduce herself to the campers noticeably burned.

At first, there was just the squelch of wet shower-shoes on concrete, and Yasha didn’t pay much mind, continuing to work the last of the sunscreen across her bicep. But then, there was a quiet gasp from her companion. “Holy shit,” Beau said softly.

“What?” Yasha tried to turn around, before she realised what Beau was looking at. “The wings?”

“They’re incredible.” Beau seemed enraptured and approached, reaching out a finger almost as if she were going to touch the linework. Yasha shrugged her off, shifting her towel over her shoulders so that the whole tattoo was covered. Beau backed away, giving what Yasha thought may have been an apologetic look.

“Oh, you know, I was young and working through some things,” Yasha said. “I hardly remember getting them, and they’re not exactly in a place I can see easily.”

“They’re gorgeous,” Beau insisted, before putting on the pretend-not-to-be-impressed expression. “But, I mean, that’s just my opinion. If you don’t like them anymore then it’s your body, of course.”

“No, I like them,” said Yasha. Yasha traced the tattoo at the bottom of her sternum, the one Beau couldn’t see, as she said this. “Anyway…” said Yasha, as she made her way over to her things and quickly finishing dressing.

By the time Yasha concluded, loosening her hair again so that it could airdry, Beau was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom. “Do you want me to wait for you?” said Yasha.

“Oh, no. Maybe you should go grab Jester and take her to breakfast,” said Beau.

“You will come up to breakfast though, yes?” said Yasha, not wanting to bring up Beau’s absence from dinner, but also not having forgotten it.

“I’m starving,” Beau confirmed, wandering over to her things, “I’ll be there soon.”

Yasha nodded, restowing the laundry bag. “Thank you for letting me run with you,” said Yasha.

Beau smiled but didn’t look at Yasha. “Any time,” she said.


	12. It's Nice To Have A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from It's Nice To Have A Friend by Taylor Swift
> 
> Hello all! I rise from the ashes of the first major wave of assignments. The second wave is coming soon, but working on this fic is officially a Psychologist Approved Method For Coping with Stress, so you'll probably get a few more chapters out of me before I hit panic mode again. 
> 
> As I'm starting to transition out of the rule establishing/world building chapters, I did just want to note that I will be keeping this very fast and loose, rather than giving every event/idea in the show a one-to-one equivalent. This may have been obviously already (my excessive emphasis on Norda anyone?), but once again I wanted y'all to be prepared.  
> Basically: Events will be happening in different orders to suit Plot Convenience. We will probably be hyperfixating on the story events I found interesting, and dropping some I didn't and/or that I just don't think jive. And obviously we are all here for Three Ladies Who Should All Kiss, which is gonna change the tone/impact of some events. 
> 
> Also, being new to actually posting the fanfic I write, I did want to get some opinions on what the tagging etiquette is as far as content warnings go. In particular my concern would be ***vague fanfic spoilers*** that while the way I'm writing Nott/Veth is based on some of the long term health repercussions of partial/near-drowning, it does present in a manner that I think can at first feel eating disorder-adjacent. I will definitely do my best to signal that's not what's happening/not imply anything in that direction, because that's genuinely not what I'm exploring, but it is obvious to me by 60 episodes in that a big part of Nott/Veth's journey is to do with how she feels about her body, so there is a natural overlap. I will also flag that I am currently building my ideas for how I write this goblin/halfling analogue based LOOSELY on a longtime friend who I worked on camp with, who became very ill for a period and dropped a dramatic, traumatic amount of weight in between camps. While her illness is better managed now, and she is back up in a lower risk weight range, the way Nott/Veth talks about her goblin body always struck me as reminiscent of the frustration and despair that this friend (and other friends with chronic illnesses) would at time express about their bodies/the way the illness effects their bodies. ***end vague spoilers***  
> So in short, any guidance as to how that is usually handled would be appreciated!
> 
> Alright, hope you guys enjoy :-)

Jester hung upside down for a long while so just to spite Beau. Beau may have been cool, but it also seemed she was not wrong when she called herself an asshole.

All the blood running to her head made Jester’s nose and ears tingle. That, combined with the openness of the campsite, was exhilarating. She didn’t even have to look at it, she could close her eyes and feel the vast expanse around her. The kids on this camp were going to love having such a big space to play in.

“Uh, Jester?”

Jester opened her eyes. It was Nott. “Good morning,” said Jester.

Nott pulled on one of the cords of her hoodie. “What are you doing?”

“Just hanging out,” said Jester. Both she and Nott giggled a little.

Jester pulled herself up. The blood in her head sank straight to her feet, and a wave of dizziness overcame her. It gave her a nice kind of fuzzy sensation, but Jester was aware that she was lurching to one side and may have even fallen off the rail if her ankles weren’t hooked.

“What’s up?” said Jester, trying to establish her equilibrium.

“I was just wondering, because Yasha and Fjord are heading into town together, if you wanted to hang out with Molly and me today.”

“That sounds really nice, thank you Nott.” Jester blinked a few times until the world was still.

Nott nodded. “No problem.” She chewed on her lip slightly. She had a number of slightly pegged teeth which, with their more pointed shape, made the gesture at the very least _look_ more painful. 

Jester hopped down from the rail without immediately face-planting, which she figured was a good sign. “Are you enjoying having Yasha as a supervising leader?”

“Yes, she’s been very nice,” said Nott, before the breathed in sharply, “but she is very tall and I can’t say that doesn’t still make me nervous.” Jester could understand that trepidation. Nott’s clothes thus far didn’t exactly emphasise her figure, but from what parts Jester could see Nott was small and slight. She looked like she might be knocked over in a stiff breeze.

“What’s the difference between being a junior leader and just, you know, a regular leader?” said Jester.

“I do everything you guys do, except then I have to fill in a bunch of paperwork reflecting on it and report into the directors every couple of days.” Not shrugged. “It’s basically rehab without the horses.”

Jester held her hands behind her back so that she could pick at her nails. “Do you know why you’re a junior leader? This is my first camp too, but they didn’t offer me that.”

“You’re not missing out,” Nott assured her, “They probably just made you a regular leader because they figured you have transferable skills.”

“Like what?” Jester didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but she had struggled in the application process to even articulate why she had wanted this job, let alone why she might me skilled at it.

Nott rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, I didn’t review your resume.”

“How old are you?” Jester said, coming up with one potential difference between herself and Nott. “Wait, is that rude to ask?”

Nott didn’t seem bothered by the question, per se, but her answer was an evasive, “I’m, you know, an adult.”

“That’s a strange way to answer that question,” said Yasha, appearing around the corner and mounting the veranda.

Yasha’s hair was still wet and mussed, and for some reason her skin seemed shiny, making her muscles pop. Jester briefly felt the fuzzy dizziness all over again. Maybe Nott had the right idea. Yasha was very nice, very tall, and despite everything still made Jester very nervous.

Nott twirled the cord of her hoodie around her finger. “We didn’t keep super great track of that sort of thing back home in Hicksville. I have my legal date of birth written down somewhere, although I’m pretty sure that’s not the day I was born. The Reapers got to us when they got to us, you know?” Yasha and Jester exchanged alarmed glances. “The Empire bureaucrats, I mean,” Nott assured them hurriedly.

Jester shook her head. “I don’t know how you could lose track of how old you are. I would get so excited about my birthday when I was little. I still love my birthday, best day of the year.”

Yasha ran her hand through her hair, leaving a distinct part from every finger. “I can’t say that sort of thing was important where I was from either, at least after you came of age.”

“How old are you, Yasha?” said Jester.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Yasha. Jester presumed that she was being teased, even though Yasha’s expression didn’t change. “Should we three go for breakfast?”

Nott immediately perked up, nodding enthusiastically. “Let me get my shoes,” said Jester, ducking back into the cabin. She could hear Nott and Yasha making small talk as she hunted around for fresh band-aids. 

Jester feared that she had once again been undone by buying supplies new for camp. Her shoes were stiff and had cut up her ankles something shocking over the past few days. Jester still wasn’t exactly used to walking longer distances daily either. Running on a treadmill or literally climbing up the walls with boredom had been more her usual fare.

Jester replaced the plasters, put on two pairs of socks, and prayed to The Traveler that would be enough.

The boys of Team Tuesday were all siting at a table when Jester, Nott and Yasha arrived. Fjord waved them down as Molly winked at Yasha. Caleb, while at first glance appearing almost shell-shocked, was nursing his mug of coffee the same way he had the previous morning. Jester had to assume he wasn’t quite awake yet.

Beau finally appeared just as the main meal elements were being loading into the trays up the front. Perhaps she had been late for lunch yesterday because the sixth sense she claimed only applied to hot food.

Beau didn’t even both sitting once she’d made it to the table. She pointed to Jester and Yasha in turn. “Same breakfast as yesterday?” she asked.

“Yes please!” Jester grinned, realising that in the moment she had forgotten all about being mad at Beau.

Yasha spoke before Jester could correct herself. “I can get-”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” interrupted Beau. They locked eyes. It wasn’t a power struggle, exactly, but it was an exchange of something. Yasha eventually sat back in her chair, and Beau gave a satisfied nod before heading off.

Yasha turned, much to Jester’s surprise, to Caleb. “How do you work with her? She’s so stubborn.” Molly tittered. “Shut up. She’s much worse than me.”

Caleb blinked a few times, still not fully alert. “Resilience is a fine trait when pointed in the right direction,” he said noncommittally. 

Beau soon returned, carrying three plates, as yesterday, and a bowl that seemed to contain a mix of every available cereal. Nott and Molly stood, presumably off to serve the rest of the table, while Beau passed out the meals to their owners. 

From what the few times Jester had observed, food appeared to be a transcendental experience for Beau. She seemed to block everything else out, using both hands to alternate bites of over-crisped bacon and spoonfuls of cereal. The only person who even came close to Beau in speed was Nott, although Nott probably was making up time by throwing all her breakfast materials between two pieces of toast, leaving her unburdened by cutlery.

Once her bowl and plate were otherwise empty, Beau retrieved  the remaining hard-boiled egg, rolled around on the table, and then sat back and began picking the shell off. Yasha stood and gestured to Beau’s plate, her own plate in the other hand. “More bacon?”

Beau said nothing, but looked quietly pleased, and passed her plate over to Yasha. She then continued peeling her egg, depositing the shell into the cereal bowl. Yasha returned not long later, another piece of toast on her plate, and multiple rashers of bacon on Beau’s.

“We’ll head out whenever you’re finished, Yasha,” said Fjord. Yasha nodded in acknowledgement as she bit into her toast.

“Are you alright, Jester?” said Molly, “Not hungry?”

“I am,” said Nott, “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Molly shook his head at Nott, refusing to acknowledge the joke. “Jester?”

“Just distractible,” said Jester quickly, turning her attention back to her half-eaten meal.

It didn’t take long until all but Nott and Molly peeled away to begin their days. “Don’t make yourself sick on our accounts,” said Molly, as Jester scrambled to finish. “I’m just as happy to wait before we get into the menial labour.”

Nott had been occupying herself for the past few minutes putting divided portions of tomato and bacon between squares of toast and wrapping them in paper napkins. Jester hadn’t realised how poor Nott’s colour had been before the meal, but in hindsight she had been worryingly ashen. If Molly noticed the change, he said nothing of it, but he had placed his satchel on the table for Nott to deposit her completed parcels into. 

Jester eventually cleared her plate, and took it to one of the handful of leaders who had volunteered at the washing up station adjacent to the kitchen. As she did so, The Gentleman- it was a dumb name, but she didn’t know what else to call him- appeared through the opposite door, from the deliveries area outside.

“Miss Lavorre,” said The Gentleman, “how are we enjoying the camp so far?”

The handful of other leaders in the room all made themselves scarce, busy, or both. Jester cocked her head. “It’s been fine,” she said, “but I’m more excited to meet the kids than to do all this paperwork.”

“I can understand that,” said The Gentleman. He leaned on one of the metal countertops, and Jester could see the man was sweating far more than the heat deserved. “But as I always say, if there’s anything worth doing, it’s worth doing the paperwork for.”

“That’s a weird thing to always say,” said Jester. The Gentleman laughed, but offered no rebuttal. Indeed, he offered nothing as he continued to look at Jester not unkindly, but not kindly either, for a number of long seconds. 

“I’m going to brush my teeth now,” said Jester unceremoniously, before fleeing.

“See you for job assignments,” she heard him call out behind her.

Although even Molly managed to condense the rest of his morning routine, most of the leaders were dispersing from the main hall by the time the trio began heading towards it. Sure enough, there was only a smattering of groups inside, waiting for The Gentleman to assign tasks. Jester was fairly sure she hadn’t even seen The Gentleman since Monday afternoon, but perhaps Norda had already worked herself to the point of exhaustion and was giving one of the other directors a chance.

Jester, Molly and Nott approached where The Gentleman was standing with a clipboard, ticking off tasks. He directed the group in front of him to clear any flammable materials from around the bonfire pit, before turning to Jester and co. without so much as a greeting. “Alright, you three are on the boatshed. Get in there, make sure there’s no wildlife and nothing rotting. Take everything out, hose the shed down, make sure all the water toys are fit for human consumption, and put them back. Think you can handle that?”

Molly was obviously trying to be subtle, but he glanced at Nott, apparently gauging her reaction. Nott had her fists in her pocket and by Jester’s measure was looking very unhappy.

“Can we perhaps have something a little more high-and-dry to do?” said Molly, sweet-as-you-please.

The Gentleman raised an eyebrow but nodded. “I’ll put Team Delinquent on boatshed, then.” He gestured to Beau and Caleb, who were standing close enough that they definitely heard. Beau looked fairly resigned, but Caleb was offended. “Would lanyard duty suit you all?”

“Perfect,” said Molly, “Although I am disappointed to not be counted as part of Team Delinquent.”

“Excellent. The laminator, printed sheets, lanyards and any other craft supplies you might need should be in the leaders’ hut. There are other leaders in there organising the space, so it might be wise to stake out an area somewhere else to work once you have what you need.”

“Understood,” said Molly.

Jester had been into the leaders’ hut on Monday afternoon when she and Beau were retrieving sign making supplies. It was a detached, raised bungalow tucked into the trees next to the track leading to the staff carpark. The area under the building was enclosed by chain link, with a wide access door on one side. Currently there was a swarm of about six leaders moving large plastic tubs within and without, inspecting and sorting and stacking.

They mounted the stairs, passing around leader who was picking through the paraphernalia in a ratty looking cardboard box. The scene inside the building itself was slightly less chaotic, with two leaders folding camp shirts, and a third taking pens and markers from a large box and experimentally scribbling to see if they still worked.

Jester, Molly and Nott dispersed to seek out their supplies. Naturally, nothing was in the box one would expect. The laminator had been placed in with the spare printer paper, but Nott eventually found the laminating sheets at the bottom of a box otherwise filled with scissors, box cutters, and pliers. The leaders working on shirts helpfully offered the box of lanyards they had found on top of their boxes, but even they were stumped as to why the paper guillotine had been packed away in a box labelled _orienteering_. 

Eventually the three of them were able to find and pack their gear into one box and make their way back to the main hall. Someone, presumably on orders from The Gentleman, had spread out a collection of rugs, picnic blankets, and pillows in the area near the stage. A couple of leaders were balanced on ladders, hanging a large painted sheet to separate the dining and stage areas.

Jester retrieved a chair to place the laminator on while Nott and Molly settled on some cushions. For reasons unknown at least to the three of them, the name badges to be laminated had been printed single-sided, even though the finished products were supposed to be double sided. After a few unattractive results from inserting the two slips into the lamination pouch unadhered (“Limited edition versions,” Molly joked), they eventually built an assembly line wherein Molly cut, Jester glued, and Nott laminated. 

Molly placed his phone on the floor and turned on some music to listen to as they worked. It was a little bit terrifying to watch him bring down the guillotine while he waved his other hand in the air and sang along passionately, but it also added a certain thrill. Nott seemed deeply entranced by the laminating, developing an efficiency to the point that she was keeping pace with Jester’s gluing despite the long wait for the pouch to run through the machine.

Four hours, seven paper cuts and one close call with the guillotine later, they had laminated, hole-punched and attached every name tag to a lanyard. The lanyards themselves were colour coded to match the cabins, but each name tag bore clip art vaguely themed to the team names. 

“Lions, tigers and bears, oh my,” deadpanned Molly, moving three of the green lanyard in near each other. _Lovely Lions. Terrific Tigers. Becoming Bears._ Jester was unsure if it changed year to year, but the current theme was definitely animals and alliteration.

“What are the bears becoming?” said Nott.

“Oh, everyone’s a critic when it comes to the team names,” said Molly, “Although that is Beau’s team, so do feel free to rile her up about it as much as possible.” Molly grinned at Jester, and she grinned back. Molly knew how to have fun.

They return to the leaders’ hut, depositing the bundles of completed lanyards next to the sorted and folded shirts. The inside of the hut was much more habitable now, with one of the three couches finally cleared of boxes. 

When the three of them emerged, Byrce was waving over any leaders in sight. “We need bodies to help Fjord and Yasha unload!” they called out. Jester looked to Nott and Molly excitedly. Their friends were back!

Then Jester stopped herself suddenly. Her friends. Their friends. A group of friends, more friends that she’d had in her entire life. Jester was stunned for a moment as she watched Nott and Molly make their way down the stairs. She was so happy, and she hadn’t even realised until now how much she was enjoying it all. Beau getting her breakfast. Nott ribbing her about gluing too slowly. Listening to Molly’s eclectic music at full volume. She was so happy that it was suddenly overwhelming.

Molly looked back up at Jester. “Why the pensive look?” he called up to her.

“Nothing!” said Jester. She took one railing in each hand and flew down the stairs two at a time.


	13. I Don't Tell 'Em Where I'm From, I Tell 'Em Where I'm Close To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 1955 by Hilltop Hoods

The Empire’s spring colour palate had been confronting when Yasha had first witnessed it. The greens and reds and yellows were almost violent in saturation, and Yasha dared to think that it wasn’t just blocked sinuses from her newly discovered hayfever that had left her with frequent headaches for those agonising few months.

Dwendalian summer we much better, she thought. The landscape mellowed into faded greens and browns, and even the sky seemed to be paler shades of blue. Yasha kept her head against the window, tracing the tops of mountains on the horizon line with her finger. She had collected some truly gorgeous spring flowers, where she could bring herself to, but she was more excited to see the less ostentatious blooms of summer.

“Are you alright?” said Fjord.

“I get motion sick sometimes,” said Yasha.

“I see.”

Hay fever. Motion sickness. Homesickness. Culture shock. Everything the Empire had afflicted her with was named with that medical, diagnostic tone. Like there was something wrong with her. Like she was temporarily ill. It wasn’t that nature was the wrong colour, or that the roads were too fast and winding, or that the food tasted all wrong, or that every damn person, including Molly, insisted on speaking in riddles at all times. It was her.

Yasha had been warned when she had first immigrated that she would get sick, actually sick, as well. Yasha had always been very hardy, a classic asymptomatic carrier, but a new germ pool was bound to be too much. “Especially coming from the south of Xhorhas,” she had been told. Especially coming from a community so isolated, had been the implication.

And she had gotten sick. A fever, unrelated to hay, that had turned her stomach to the point she could barely sip water. Thank the Storm Lord and all things holy that she’d had Molly by that point, and an understanding boss like Gustav. In fact, it was almost like she been holding back the tide of the illness until she had met them. Those foreign diseases had assaulted her, overrun her body, but she only allowed herself the weakness of succumbing once she knew she was safe. That she wouldn’t be alone for the three days it took her fever to break. That she would be coming back to her job. That it was worth being sick for a while because there was recovery on the other side.

That was what she focused on. Sickness eased. Maybe she _was_ just temporarily ill. Maybe next spring, the colours would be a little less oppressive to her. Maybe in five years she wouldn’t mind at all.

But for now, she liked the summer landscape, and motion sick or not, she was drawn to rest her forehead on the window and watch it blurring past as they drove.

The trip into the nearest town was maybe twenty minutes. According to Fjord, the next town after that was another fifteen minutes, although that one was apparently large enough to boast both a hotel and an unaffiliated bar. Small towns- now that at least was a culture Yasha understood.

“Alright,” said Fjord, slamming the cab door shut. “First port of call is picking up the speakers, then firewood, and then Gustav slid me a twenty to get ourselves something nice, on the condition that we also buy him a toothbrush and don’t tell Norda.”

Yasha nodded, hopping down and closing her own door. It seemed simple enough.

“The fine folks at The Landlocked Lady keep a hold of our electronic gear during the off season, I think as a favour to The Gentleman.” Fjord gestured to the hotel in front of them. At two stories high, it was the tallest building in town, but clearly that didn’t count for much. “This might be the first camp he’s attended in five years, but his name counts for something around here, clearly.”

“His name being what exactly?” inquired Yasha. For the last three days she had heard people referring to him exclusively as The Gentleman, which struck her as at least odd.

“Not a clue,” said Fjord. “I figure if he’s worked this hard to keep it a secret, he can have it.”

Yasha shrugged. “Okay.”

“He is absolutely using this camp as a money laundering operation, by the way,” said Fjord nonchalantly.

“Pardon?” Yasha blinked. She was fairly sure she had understood Fjord correctly, in which case that was a hell of a bomb to drop on her so casually.

Fjord stopped outside the swinging door leading into the hotel. “I do think he cares about the kids and their wellbeing. Honour amongst thieves and all that.” Yasha hadn’t heard that phrase before, but she could infer the meaning. “I just don’t get the impression that starting a summer camp was a lifelong passion of his, and this camp definitely turns more of a profit than it rightfully deserves.”

“Okay.” Yasha didn’t know what else to say.

“I just wanted to let you know, because you might what to moderate your interactions with his associates, if you understand what I mean?”

Yasha nodded firmly this time. “Okay, I understand. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Fjord pushed through the doors, and Yasha followed after.

The inside of the building matched the outside. All of the carpet and wallpaper may have once been nice but now bore significant signs of wear and age. The reception they stepped into was reasonably maintained, although areas on the wall behind the desk where spackling had been painted over suggested that the clientele were not always considerate of their surroundings. The doorway to the bar was off to the left and there was a few regulars already drowning their sorrows. 

“Champ! How are you?” Fjord called to the man on reception.

Champ looked up from his work. “I’m well,” he said, “I’m assuming you’re here to retrieve everything from out the back?”

Fjord nodded. “The Gentleman said to tell Ms Mardoon that we bring many gifts, in lieu of payment.”

“I’ll pass on the message,” said Champ, going back to writing something in a ledger.

Fjord, needing no more instructions, took a key off the wall and gestured to Yasha to follow him back outside. They continued around to a shed with a roller door. Fjord popped the padlock open and began to lift the door. The rollers and hinges complained loudly, and Yasha stepped in to assist when Fjord was about to drop it from the strain. The difficulty moving the shed door probably posed more of an obstacle than the flimsy padlock, Yasha thought, although she didn’t see much good in saying so out loud.

Repetitive, heavy lifting was meditative to Yasha. Always had been. Fjord left Yasha to the speakers in favour of taking on the mounds of cables, and once that was done together they carried the metal poles and began lashing them to the truck’s roof rack.

“Poles and screen are for Saturday movie nights,” said Fjord, dragging a thick cloth bag containing a mass of white tarpaulin over to Yasha so that she could help him lift it.

“Every Saturday?” said Yasha, crouching down to lift.

They had thrown the screen into the back of the truck before Fjord had the breath and wherewithal to answer. “Every Saturday,” he confirmed, stripping himself of his gloves and wiping his brow. Yasha did the same.

“Lucky things,” she said, softly, before pouring about half of her water bottle into her mouth.

“You’re mighty strong, Yasha,” said Fjord.

“Thank you,” said Yasha, “You are above average in strength.”

Fjord placed his gloves in his back pocket. Yasha mirrored. “I can never tell when you’re joshing me,” said Fjord, shaking his head.

“When I’m what?”

“Playing around. Bantering.” Fjord slapped the back of the truck bed a couple of times with his hand, and then stepped over the hitch so that he was on the driver’s side again. “I’ll return the key now, then it’s a trailer full of wood, toothbrush pickup, and home.”

Fjord was a short distance away before Yasha could respond. “Don’t forget something nice!” she yelled at Fjord’s back. Fjord turn to Yasha, an eyebrow raised. On Molly that meant _how do you feel?_ On other people it usually meant _what do you mean?_ or _why do you say that?_

“With the toothbrush,” Yasha clarified, “We’re getting something nice. Don’t forget.” 

Fjord smiled. “Of course not.” He turned and began resumed walking.

“I don’t want to get in trouble for not following Gustav’s instructions!” Yasha yelled again. She was practically as loud as Molly now. Although Fjord kept walking, he turned his head and gave a wide grin and a wink. Yasha grinned back.

Soon they were back in the truck, and Yasha was tracing the horizon line once more. Their next stop was barely two minutes away. Lugging wood to a trailer was even more familiar, almost unsettlingly so. Yasha was sure she was making twice the pace Fjord was. 

And then finally, gloriously, they drove another three minutes to the convenience store on the other side of town. When they entered, Fjord beelined to the toiletries aisle, leaving Yasha to linger just inside the door. The air conditioner in the store was doing its best, which was to say that it was very loud and moderately effective. Unsure what else to do with herself, Yasha traced the horizon line on the glass of the freezers next to her.

Fjord held a toothbrush aloft, victorious. “I’ve got the goods. Have you decided what you want to get?”

Yasha shook her head. The problem wasn’t so much an abundance of choices as an abundance of choices for which she held no strong opinion.

“Do you want something to eat?” Yasha shrugged. “You look hot, maybe ice cream? I think I’ll get some.” Yasha thought about it, and then nodded slowly. “You don’t have to get anything if you don’t want to, by the way. I won’t tell Gustav,” Fjord added with a wink.

Yasha shook her head. “Thank you, but it is hot, and I should be trying new things regardless. I’ll just get whatever you’re getting.”

Fjord made a noise of affirmation and walked over to the chest freezer near the front of the store. He reached in to retrieve two wrapped items. He also selected two cans from the minifridge next to the counter, before depositing his bounty and paying.

Fjord drove them a little way out of town, probably halfway back to camp, before he pulled over. The ice cream sandwiches were half-melted and the cans sweating profusely, but Yasha appreciated the privacy. Fjord laid down a ratty picnic blanket on the bonnet of the truck, and they both climbed up to sit. They faced out so they could gaze across the blanket of rolling fields that seem to go on for an eternity.

“So how are you finding it here?” opened Fjord.

“Here meaning where?” said Yasha.

“I suppose we can start with camp.”

“It’s good. It’s fun. I like it.” Yasha tucked into a cross-legged position.

“You done anything like this before?”

“No, not really.”

“Not even back home?”

“In Xhorhas? Work on a camp?” Fjord nodded. “No.”

“How long have you been in the Empire?”

“Eight months. You?”

“Couple of years.”

“How do you find it?” Yasha looked at Fjord but was unsure exactly what she was looking _for_. 

Fjord sipped his drink. “It’s a lot, sometimes, but I always have the option to go back to the Coast for some respite, as long as I can afford the travel. I hear the border with Xhorhas isn’t quite as permeable these days.”

“You could say that.”

“I also heard rumour there’s been skirmishes near Ashguard.”

Yasha paused, flicking the ring-pull on the can. “I’m not from that far north,” she said eventually.

Fjord nodded, looking back out across the rolling fields. “Understood.” Yasha was glad that he understood, that he could tell Yasha didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“Where did you learn to do the thing with the knife?” said Fjord. He still wanted to make conversation, clearly.

“Started when I was a kid. Being dexterous with a knife is something that you can show off, at least a little bit, without seeming self-important. Because, you know, it’s a good life skill. Also, you get to have a knife, which is cool.”

“I can see the appeal.”

“Do you have any hobbies?” said Yasha, making conversation back.

“Nothing interesting.”

“I thought people from the Coast were supposed to be flamboyant and intriguing.”

“I thought people from Xhorhas only knew how to talk with their fists.”

“I am fluent with my fists.”

“And I will have you know that I have my own personal mystique. Just no hobbies of note.”

“Understood,” said Yasha with a smile. She popped the final bite of ice cream sandwich into her mouth.

Fjord turned so that he was facing Yasha. She turned to him as well, trying not to mirror the graveness of his expression. “Listen, I know that I’m not your de-brief leader, but Norda can be… a lot. And she’s very Empire, ex-Crownsguard, doesn’t get out much.” 

“I got that impression, yes.”

“Which is not to say that she’s not even-handed, of course,” Fjord added hastily, “but if you needed someone to talk to with a bit of a different perspective, I’m always happy to oblige.”

“Thank you, Fjord.” She meant it. It looked like he understood that. She hoped that he understood that.

“We should start heading back,” said Fjord, “before they send out a search party.”

They were quiet the rest of the drive back to camp, not that Yasha minded. She was out of form, she realised, and the exertion of the day had made her tired.

Fjord had texted ahead, so Byrce greeted them in the carpark. “Why don’t you two go make yourselves a late lunch?” they said to Fjord and Yasha. They whistled and began waving down staff to assist unloading.

Molly and Nott emerged from the raised bungalow near the carpark. Molly, of course, was immediately drawn to the commotion, and Bryce called out to them as well. Jester emerged shortly thereafter, and looked to both Fjord and Yasha with excitement.

In a matter of seconds, Jester was practically sprinting over. She caught up to Nott and Molly, and then overtook them. Maybe Jester should try running with Beau some time, thought Yasha. She seemed to have the energy for it.

Before either of them knew quite what was happening, Jester collected Yasha and Fjord into a flying hug, or perhaps a gentle tackle. Luckily, Fjord and Yasha took the force without falling over. Jester withdrew quickly afterwards, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear and grinning. She launched into a monologue about her day, as if Yasha and Fjord were old friends she hadn’t seen in years.

A short distance away, Molly pulled a face. _Too much_ , it said, and he flicked his eyes to Jester. Making sure to keep her hand below Jester’s line of sight, Yasha raised her middle finger at Molly. He beamed, just like he would at Beau.


	14. I Know I Like To Draw The Line When It Start To Get Too Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan
> 
> Hello, once again I am back The Next Day. Manage your expectations etc.
> 
> Hopefully I will get out one more chapter before I have to force myself into assignment lockdown, but if I don't please know that I really appreciate you all and will be back on my bullshit at the first possible opportunity ;-)

“Woo, Team Delinquent!” said Beau as she and Caleb stepped out into the sunlight. She half extended her arms in the air for emphasis. Caleb still looked fully pissed. “Boat shed isn’t that bad, dude.”

“This is not about the boatshed,” said Caleb, looking down the hill with a scowl.

Beau clapped Caleb on the shoulder. “It’s just words,” she said, “You just gotta reclaim whatever they call you. Catch those arrows they sling at you and throw them back.” Beau mimed catching an arrow an inch from her face and pegging it back at her invisible assailant like a dart.

“Yes, that strategy has left you well adjusted, as we have witnessed,” said Caleb.

Beau shook her head. “Oh, you think you’ve witnessed the half of it?” She sprinted ahead a few steps and turned to face him, walking backwards down the hill as he walked forward.

“Don’t trip,” said Caleb.

“No, _you_ don’t trip, man.” Beau laughed at her own joke, because Caleb certainly wasn’t going to. “Worrying isn’t going to change the way people see you. I may not have these people’s respect, but I do at least have a good time.”

Caleb stared past Beau. “I would rather be respected.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” said Beau with a shrug. “I’m going to change, see you at the boatshed in ten.”

Caleb, once again, was extremely prompt to their rendezvous. Beau found him dressed in boardshorts and a long sleeved rashvest, sitting on a large rock, and clutching what appeared to be a small toy cat. When he spotted Beau he looked sprung, doubling over as if he could hide what he was doing.

“Who’s this?” said Beau, gesturing. Caleb glared up at Beau, before starting to wrap the toy up in his jacket. Beau folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t tell me.” Beau looked away, and added under her breath, “I wasn’t even being mean.”

Caleb clutched the jacket into his chest. “Frumpkin,” he said eventually, placing the buddle behind the rock he was sitting on rather than looking at Beau.

“Does Frumpkin go with you everywhere, or does he just come out when I’m pissing you off?” Caleb went back to looking sour. “Maybe that’s a tautology. Keys?”

Caleb threw her the set of boatshed keys, which he had used to unlock the gate across the path down. “I don’t need him, but I like him,” he said absently. And then, “The campers are going to eat me alive.”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t think the cat will be the final nail in that coffin.” Beau twirled the keyring around her finger. “Besides, some kids will appreciate the vulnerability, and those that don’t will be able to make hobby out of trying to steal Frumpkin and hide him in obscure places.”

“I don’t think I’ll win any prizes for guessing which one you would have been,” said Caleb.

“Yeah, I was a real softie when I was twelve,” said Beau. She wasn’t sure how much she was actually joking, but that got the first smile she had seen out of Caleb all day.

The boatshed was a mess. It smelled primarily of mildew and degrading plastic. One of the lights had been busted some time since last year, leaving half the room unlit. From what Beau could see, there was at least three dead frogs in various nooks. Caleb had courageously allowed Beau to assess the damage before he got involved, so Beau took the opportunity to spear one of the frog corpses on the end of a stick and surprise him with it.

He reacted about as expected, retreating to his rock muttering what Beau suspected were Zemnian curse words under his breath. Good. Beau didn’t want him getting too cocky or complacent.

This did, however, mean that Beau spent the first ten minutes emptying the boatshed by herself, unable to convince Caleb that the threat had passed even after she had excavated all remains. He also was unmoved by any complaining on Beau’s part and seemed to pick his moment to begin pitching in merely because he was good and ready.

The contents of the boatshed was to be split into three different piles: needs cleaning, needs repair, and safety hazard. In defence of the camp administration, the majority of that final pile was dedicated to half-disintegrated pool noodles and deceased wildlife.

Beau began to unravel the hose as Caleb threw the final armful of under-inflated pool toys onto the ground. Pointing the hose towards the bushes, Beau began to experiment with the water pressure, placing her thumb over the nozzle to make the spray of water fan out.

“Are you going to rinse out the shed, or just play around in the water for the rest of the morning?” said Caleb.

Beau wheeled around and sprayed Caleb directly in the chest with a burst of water. He blinked slowly at her, unimpressed. She sprayed him again, more broadly.

“Stop that,” he said.

“Stop what?” said Beau, spraying him a third time. Caleb glared back at her like a drowned cat.

“You’re incorrigible,” said Caleb.

“You clearly needed a bath.” Beau feigned raising the hose again, and Caleb flinched a little. Beau snorted.

“Give me the hose, you clearly can’t be trusted with it,” said Caleb, doing his best to look authoritative as he held his palm open to Beau.

“Is that supposed to _encourage_ me to cooperate?” said Beau, finally getting the hang of the hose enough that she could spray a fine mist over Caleb’s head. It caught the light and burst into rainbows, which Caleb definitely couldn’t appreciate from his vantage point.

Caleb strode over and whipped the hose out of Beau’s hand. Beau stamped, lightly, on the instep of his foot, and seized it back. “We don’t snatch,” she said, in her firmest, counsellor-est tone.

Undeterred, he snatched it right back again, and without any more ceremony, blasted Beau in the face with a jet of water. Beau spluttered, immediately bringing her hands up to defend herself, but the assault was over before she even had time to settle into stance. Beau wiped her face and opened her eyes to see Caleb in front of her, holding the hose off pointing off to one side.

“We don’t spray people with the hose when they’ve asked us not to,” said Caleb, in the tone equivalent to Beau’s.

“Touché,” said Beau. She used both hands to wipe off her face now. Caleb didn’t even have the decency too look smug or amused. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Caleb said. Beau could feel the shift in the air, and looked away before she could see it reflected on his face. The asymmetrical twitch in the nose and lips. She could always see the that shit, even when other people couldn’t. Dairon called it one of her gifts, but Beau really wasn’t sure about that. All she knew now was that she didn’t want to have to see it on Caleb.

“Was I unclear?” said Caleb. Beau said nothing, folding her arms instead. She felt her desire to make the same expression she was imagining on him, although she tried to suppress it. “I couldn’t care less about you tormenting me, but would you do that to… would you do that to a camper? Would you keep going, keep spraying them with water after they said not to?”

“Of course not!” Beau snapped. “A camper couldn’t tell me off. A camper couldn’t fight back.”

Caleb fell silent. No insistence on _civil conversation_. No requests that Beau look at him. She wasn’t even sure he was looking at her, but she certainly couldn’t feel his eyes boring into her. The absence of feedback, that silence set off every alarm inside Beau, begging her to run, or to punch Caleb, or both. It took everything in her to stay put.

“You’re angry with me,” said Caleb. It was not a question.

“And you’re angry with me,” retorted Beau.

“No, I am angry that you sprayed me with water,” said Caleb, “but you are angry _with me_.”

“I’m not.” He was mostly right, but Beau wasn’t exactly in the mood to concede ground. “Why are we even doing this? It’s just water. We’re even dressed for the occasion!” Beau flung her hands wide, gesturing to her own swimming attire.

“Why _are_ we doing this, Beau?” said Caleb.

Beau swallowed, refolded her arms and muttered to herself between gritted teeth.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying,” said Caleb.

“I said I wasn’t fucking playing in the fucking water you fucking patronising asshat! And then you start acting like trying to wind up my grown-ass work colleague is the same a picking on some defenceless kid in my care.” Beau stopped suppressing that expression, let it pull at the side of her face until the muscles quivered. Contempt. Contempt at the very idea. “Fuck you!”

Caleb’s eyes were wide at Beau’s tirade, but she was both unwilling and unable to stop. “You’ve never worked on a camp before, and this is _my camp_. I look forward to this all fucking year, and I’m not going to have you coming in here and telling me that I’m shitty, thoughtless leader.”

Caleb held up his hands, suddenly thinking he could play victim. “You were not playing in the water. Message received. I withdraw the accusation.”

“That’s not the fucking point, and you know it!” Beau lost the internal battle against taking some sort of action, but luckily for Caleb she found that the action of choice was her legs carrying her back up the hill. “Clean the boatshed yourself, I’m going to cool down.”

When Beau felt she was sufficiently far away from Caleb so that she wouldn’t seem passive-aggressive, she stuffed her shirt into her mouth and gave a long, muffled scream.

 _This is my camp_ . She sounded like a fucking child. She was acting like a fucking child, having two meltdowns in two days. _It’s just words_ in-fucking-deed. Why did these people get under her skin like this? Why was she letting them?

Beau launched a kick on a nearby tree, and then another. Feet, fists, elbows, knees, what began as lashing out soon built up pace and rhythm, until she found herself doing drills. Dairon had conditioned her well enough for that transition to be second nature.

It had started early in their relationship. Beau had been… she couldn’t even remember. Whaling on some other snot-nosed kid for looking at her wrong, probably. And the dean had marched her straight to Dairon, who had marched her straight to the dilapidated studio on the edge of the school’s property.

“You think you can throw a punch?” Dairon had challenged. Then she had pointed to a mat crudely but securely duct tapped to the cinderblock wall. “Punch, then. Show me how hard you hit, tough girl.”

Beau remembered rolling her eyes. She remembered slamming her fists down again and again into the mat. When that failed to move Dairon, she had stamped onto it with her socked foot, rammed her shoulder, and then punched and punched and punched. She had no idea what Dairon wanted, but for a while it just felt good to hit.

Dairon had watched without comment for however many minutes. Eventually, Beau stopped and leaned against the mat. “This is boring!” she had declared.

Dairon had raised an eyebrow. “Want a moving target?” Dairon tapped her own chin with her index finger.

Beau’s eyes had gone wide. “Really?” Dairon nodded.

Beau had charged, and missed with her first haymaker. Beau knew now that Dairon had been extremely controlled in return, dealing what amounted to a couple of love taps to sensitive but non-vital spots. But when Beau had actually landed a fairly solid blow, Dairon stepped around her and flicked her in the back of the head.

Beau, incensed, had pushed Dairon away. “Don’t do that! My dad does that, and I hate it.”

“Oh, so now we don’t want to fight?” said Dairon.

Scowling, Beau had charged again. Dairon tripped Beau, but caught her before she went down completely. Despite this, Beau had wretched herself free, throwing herself onto the mat on the floor. In terms of compromised stances, they both knew Beau would rather be prone than restrained.

“Your maturity never fails to astound,” said Dairon. And then she had nudged Beau gently in the ribs with her own socked foot. “You wanted to fight me, now stand up and fight me.”

Beau had laid there, panting, in a tangle of her own limbs and her sweat-soaked uniform. “I don’t want to fight you. Please.” She looked up at Dairon, trying to do her best helpless-little-girl eyes.

Dairon had never fallen for that act, even in the beginning. She dragged Beau up into standing position, and tapped her chin again. “Right here, Beauregard. Come on.”

Beau swung her fist. Dairon blocked it, and then inspected it. “Thumb on the outside of the fist, please, I have no interest in you breaking it.” Beau swung again, and Dairon eyed the hand as she dodged. “Better.”

“I hate you!” Beau had said, lashing out with a kick. Dairon caught it and tipped Beau backwards. Once again, Dairon kept a hold on Beau (using the captured foot, this time) and didn’t allow her to hit the ground, but Beau insisted on wriggling from her grasp and falling onto her back. “I hate you!” Beau had repeated, wiping sweaty strands of hair from in front of her eyes as she looked up at Dairon.

“So, you hate me. Prove it.” Dairon offered Beau a hand to stand, and Beau had kicked her in the shin. “You’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”

Beau crawled backwards on the mat. Dairon followed her, and then crouched down. “Leave me alone!” Beau screamed directly into Dairon’s face, lashing out with a mixture of all available limbs. Neither of them were exactly in an optimal stance to be trading blows, but Dairon was quickly able to collect one, both of Beau’s wildly swinging fists. She crossed Beau’s arms across her body, and Beau gave a cry of frustration when her socks had too little purchase on the mat to allow her to break free.

Dairon collected Beau in her arms and began to lift her. Beau writhed against it briefly, before realising that escape was impossible. She had then opted to make herself a dead weight. Dairon nearly dropped her, but overall it was not the deterrent Beau had hoped, because Dairon was apparently still strong enough to haul a young adolescent rag doll over her shoulder with only a minor adjustment to her grip.

After continuing to play dead for maybe half a minute while she caught her breath, Beau had slapped Dairon on the back a couple of times. “What are you doing?”

“Are you ready to go again?” Dairon had replied.

Beau pouted into Dairon’s back, grateful that at least neither of them could see the other’s face. “I don’t hate you, Dairon.”

“That’s nice of you to say, sweetheart, but I don’t mind either way,” said Dairon.

“And I don’t want to fight. For real this time.” Dairon made no reply. Beau beat her fist against Dairon’s back. “Dairon! I’m done!”

“Good to hear,” said Dairon. With her words finally acknowledged, Beau let go of the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

Dairon strode over a few steps and dropped Beau onto her feet in front of the wall with the mat. “Punch,” she commanded, pointing to the mat. Beau sighed, and punched. “Thumb, Beauregard!” Dairon manipulated Beau’s outstretched hand into the correct first shape.

“Again.” Beau punched. “Now, other hand.” Beau complied, this time quietly giggling to herself. “I see the thumb, Beau. Now you’re just trying to bait me.”

“Yep,” said Beau, punching again with correct form.

“Get in closer. Don’t lean forward to reach.” Beau moved in. “Eyes up, not on where you’re hitting. That’s what your peripheral is for.” Dairon pressed a few fingers under Beau’s chin to tilt her head up, a move that truly only Dairon could have gotten away with. “Move your feet with it. Don’t waste the momentum. Punch. And other hand. Again. Again. Good.”

Beau looked back at Dairon, unsure if she could hear her blood in her ears from the exertion or the affirmation. She didn’t have time to figure it out, either. “Hair-tie,” Dairon had demanded.

Beau pulled a hair-tie off her wrist, and Dairon used it to collect Beau’s home-cropped hair into a small bun.

“I want you to do a hundred of those,” Dairon said as she looped the hair tie the final time. Beau began to protest. “One hundred _combinations_ , Beauregard. If you like to hit so much, then you’re going to hit properly.”

“I changed my mind. I do actually hate you.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Thank you for keeping me updated.” Dairon ruffled Beau’s hair a little and Beau swatted at her, which Dairon allowed. Then Dairon went and retrieved a folding chair from the other side of the room. She sat herself backwards on it a short distance behind Beau. “You can count, or I can, I don’t mind.”

As she landed another a solid punch to timber, Beau considered calling Dairon a bit more often.

“If I was a tree, I would be very nervous,” said Caleb. Beau broke away from her drills, unsure how long she had been at it, to look at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me.” She slammed the trunk of the tree with a roundhouse, and heard Caleb wince behind her.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not anymore, that’s why you do it.”

Caleb audibly swallowed. “I shouldn’t have-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Beau cut him off. She stopped her full body drills, and instead began rapidly tapping her first two knuckles against the tree. “I’m over it.”

Another audible swallow. “Just like that?”

Beau swapped hands. “Just like that.”

“Forgive me for being cynical, but I don’t believe you.”

“You can believe what you want.” Beau turned to look at him. “What you see is what you get, Caleb. Like Norda said: contrarian, reckless, bad attitude.”

Caleb shook his head. “I don’t believe that either.”

Beau shook her head right back. “Then you’re an idiot.”

Caleb was holding his bundled jacket, from which he now extracted Frumpkin. He held the cat out to Beau.

Beau raised an eyebrow. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”

There was just the twitch of a smile on Caleb’s face. At least Beau could see that sort of thing too. “Frumpkin is a magic cat,” Caleb said, “If you hug him, he makes you feel better, even if you don’t want to.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “That’s super dumb and corny.”

“But empirically tested by all my boarding school dormmates,” said Caleb.

Beau exhaled. _Boarding school dormmates_ really was the enchanted phrase in that sentence. “I'll try it, but only because it's magic.” Beau took Frumpkin and, after a brief contemplation, held him to the spot between her collarbones, tucking her chin over the top.

She hated to admit it, but Caleb was right. She did sort of feel better.

“Alright, that’s enough. We can’t have him liking you more than me.” Caleb reached out to receive the cat. Beau felt like that last sentence was only sort of a joke. She passed Frumpkin back.

Caleb held Frumpkin to his chest now. “Will we be like this around the kids, when they arrive?” he asked. When most people said _we_ is a question like that they weren’t actually including themselves, but Caleb sounded like perhaps he was, which kept Beau at ease in spite of herself. “Because purely from a logistical perspective, I don’t want to be making our lives harder by fighting or being afraid that we’re going to set the other one off.”

Beau nodded slowly. “That makes two of us, I suppose.”

“Good.” Caleb began to bundle Frumpkin back up again.

Beau leaned against the tree. “I’ve been thinking about this thing Yasha said to me this morning, about people picking fights but liking the making up more than the fighting. Do you think there are other people who prefer the fighting to the making up?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Caleb.

“Why would that be, do you think?” Beau rubbed the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

“I don’t know. Zemnians don’t exactly dissect their emotions that way.” Caleb snorted to himself in what seemed to be amusement. Still holding his bundle against his torso in one hand, Caleb gestured broadly to his chest. “Zemnians, we have a feeling, and then we keep it in here and never speak of it again.”

“You keep the feelings inside the stuffed cat?” said Beau.

“That is definitely what I meant,” said Caleb.

Beau allowed herself a smile. “Maybe that’s why he’s magic. Oh! Your feelings made him real, Caleb!” She clasped her hands together in mock excitement. Then she caught his expression. “What now?”

“Nothing, I just think that I’m beginning to understand the pattern.” Caleb stretched. “Well, the shed is clean and re-packed, and we’ve already missed lunch. Can you help me take the garbage bags up to the dumpster? If you can stand the sight of me.”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it turns out that you can write notes at the end too!
> 
> I just wanted to pop back in and say that I am acutely aware that I have deviated from the canonical characterisation of Dairon and their relationship with Beau.  
> Part of that is just from background plot tweaks, like the shift in the age at which I've had them and Beau meet. (I feel like actively beating the shit out of a twelve-year-old is probably bad vibes, for example.) Part of it was that we hadn't seen Dairon for a while at the point in the show I was at when wrote the skeleton for this scene, and so I just gave Dairon the voice/mannerisms I found interesting to write.  
> However, I do like Dairon in the show a lot, I like how they're characterised, but to serve the narrative utility I wanted from them for this story I've opted to massage a little. 
> 
> Additionally, I am aware that canonically Dairon uses she/her and they/them pronouns interchangeably. I will definitely be keeping the pronouns I use inside a scene consistent, and I suspect just for my own brain I might be using she/her the majority of the time. But just know that I'm aware, and that I'm certainly going to try to steer clear of using explicitly gendered language when talking about them.
> 
> Alright, thanks for reading!


	15. Quiet Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!
> 
> I wrote this whole thing while waiting for my assignment to render #ripme  
> I will probably be back when assignments are over in two-ish weeks, assuming the rendering isn't a bitch again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Jester, sweetie, maybe let Fjord and Yasha draw breath before you start grilling them about their no doubt riveting trip into town,” said Molly, stepping up behind her. “We do have gear that needs unloading before dark, after all.”

Molly was right, of course. Jester bowed her head slightly, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Molly placed a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, and Jester turned to him in surprise. “I know Yasha’s pretty, but please control yourself,” he whispered in Infernal, before winking.

Yasha turned from handing Bryce something to point an accusatory finger at Molly. “I heard my name.”

“Fjord is pretty too, of course,” added Molly, slightly louder, and while making direct eye contact with Yasha.

“I know the word _pretty_ as well,” said Yasha, her pronunciation of the single word close enough that Jester certainly believed Yasha had heard it plenty. “I’ve met enough of your _pretty_ friends.” Yasha was giving Molly the same sort of look that a teenage Jester had given her mother before slamming her bedroom door the one time they’d had an actual argument.

“You have a lot of pretty friends?” said Jester, also in Infernal. She knew a word that she thought might translate to ‘lovers’, but given Jester only spoke Infernal with her mother, she didn’t want to take the risk that she had missed some connotations.

“Oh, plenty,” replied Molly, “Sometimes I even let them kiss me.”

“Alright, enough of that,” said Bryce, waving their hand. “I’m with Molly, let’s unload before Yasha and Fjord’s late lunch turns into a midnight snack.”

On cue, Fjord excused himself and Yasha, the latter of whom was still glaring suspiciously at Molly as they left.

The two of them were barely out of sight when Beau and Caleb crested the hill. They were carrying large garbage bags, presumably from clearing out the boatshed, and were headed towards the dumpster.

“Beau, Caleb, if you two could lend a hand unloading when you’re done with those,” said Bryce as the pair passed them.

“Uh huh,” said Beau, seeming uncharacteristically mellow. Well, the same kind of mellow she had been yesterday evening. Jester tried not to be worried, because it was none of her business, but it still made her frown.

“We can do that, yes,” said Caleb. Nott was already by his side.

Once her junk was dealt with, Beau came up alongside Jester as they waited to be passed goods off the back of the truck. “You just missed Yasha and Fjord,” Jester told her.

“Damn, I’m sure she looked really good after all the heavy lifting,” Beau whispered conspiratorially. “Did she have her hair all…” Beau indicated braiding along the sides, and all the hair from the ears up pulled into a bun. At least, Jester figured that was what she meant, adding context clues to Beau’s charades.

“She did,” said Jester, grinning. “She was all sweaty, kind of shiny, so you could really see the definition in her arm muscles.”

“You’re killing me, Jess,” said Beau. She had definitely perked up some.

“You really missed out,” teased Jester, trying not to let her heart rate run away from her. ‘Jess’ was just a truncation of her name. That didn’t count as a nickname.

Also, speaking of people who were sweaty, it had not gone unnoticed by Jester that Beau was looking more gorgeously dishevelled than usual. In addition to the bold fashion statement that was a faded lycra sports bra, a moth-eaten old camp shirt, and vibrant blue board shorts, she’d somehow gained a nontrivial number of superficial gazes from her knees downwards. Beau also had more hair adrift from her bun than in it, and as she reached her arms up to fix this, their lean musculature was visible just as much as on Yasha.

This was not to say that Beau was as strong as Yasha. Jester had already suspected this was the case, but unloading the trucks definitively proved that Jester herself was also stronger than Beau. Not that Beau would have ever conceded to that. She made a point of carrying however much Jester was carrying, to the point that Jester scaled back her loads for fear Beau was going to hurt herself.

Once the truck was unloaded, Bryce dismissed everyone who had finished their assignments from duty. Beau looked back to Caleb, who was already walking away from the group, deep in conversation with Nott. “Well, there goes my boy,” Beau said, “What about my girl, want to head back to the cabin?”

“Oh. Yeah! Sure,” said Jester. _My girl_. If Caleb was Beau’s boy, then Jester being Beau’s girl couldn’t mean that much, but the words rung nicely in Jester’s ears anyway.

Jester sidled up and slipped her hand into Beau’s. Beau turned back to her with a bemused look. Jester wasn’t sure exactly what her faux pas had been, but she had to gather it was something to do with the meaning of handholding in the Empire, so she let go.

Beau frowned, like maybe she was disappointed, and opened and closed her now empty hand a couple of times pointedly. Jester took Beau’s hand back, and Beau looked forward again, honour satisfied.

“Did you fall over?” asked Jester as they walked, pointing Beau’s legs.

Beau looked down, confused, and then back up at Jester. “No, that’s just me being a walking occupational safety hazard. Got in a fight with a tree.” Beau paused. “Are you going to offer any first aid, or do you just like looking at my legs?

Jester shrugged. “I can check that there’s not anything that got trapped under the skin when we get back to the cabin, but it looks pretty clean to me.”

“You have a very hands-off first aid approach.”

Jester shrugged. “We could amputate, if you prefer?” Beau shrugged back, smiling softly. She looked tired now, but her gentler smile was still nice.

Beau let go of Jester’s hand as she ascended the veranda. Jester opened and closed her hand, realising now why Beau had done that before. Jester’s hand felt strangely empty, even though the leisurely stroll couldn’t have taken more than two minutes.

Inside the cabin, Beau sat on her bed and Jester, as promised, knelt down so she could inspect the grazes more closely. Once Jester had settled, Beau doubled over, folded arms resting on her knees and her chin resting on top of that. Her face was level with- and very, very close to- Jester’s. It was just like last night, when Beau had traded being obstinate about the getting changed thing for just winding Jester up about it. Jester knew it was partially her fault for stepping in too close (it had seemed funnier in her head), but the intensity of Beau stare once they were eye to eye… Jester didn’t like it, which was to say she did like it, she supposed. She didn’t know what she felt, exactly, but she felt something.

Now, though, Beau wasn’t holding her gaze at all. Her eyes flitted to Jester every so often, but mostly she looked down at her injuries. The injuries only really required looking, in Jester’s opinion. Beau seemed to mostly have taken off small sections of the top layer of skin, and she hadn’t gone deep enough draw more than a few beads of blood here and there. It probably wasn’t even worth the saline to rinse them off.

Jester took a hold of Beau’s right ankle, which was adorned with an anklet made of braided blue thread, and turned Beau’s leg to check the outside of her calf. Jester was ginger in her awkwardness, and Beau immediately noticed. She kicked Jester lightly in the stomach with her other foot. “Don’t get shy on my account, nurse.”

“Don’t be difficult,” retorted Jester, but she took a firmer grasp with Beau’s left ankle once she had placed that foot back on the ground.

“That’s my middle name: Beauregard Difficult Lionett.”

Jester looked up at Beau curiously. _Beauregard._ Yeah, sure, she could see it. “I didn’t realise Beau was short for something. Beauregard is a nice name.”

Beau pulled a face. “It’s not, but thanks anyway.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” said Jester. _Because it’s yours_ , she added in her head. Out loud, she instead declared, “It doesn’t look like you got anything caught in there. Just maybe be more careful next time you get in a fight with a tree, especially if you’re not wearing long pants?”

Beau immediately sat up straight again, and Jester stood. “Cool. Do I get a lollipop, for being brave?” said Beau.

She could tell Beau was joking, but Jester was unsure what part was supposed to be humorous. Jester pulled a lollipop out of her pocket and tossed it to Beau, who caught it with a look of surprised delight on her face.

As she pulled the wrapper off the lollipop, Beau mumbled something about the room being too stuffy. She made quick work of throwing open the door and turning on the fans at full blast. The two of them soon settled in, both laying on their stomachs on their respective beds. With the white noise of the fans blaring in the background, Beau played contentedly on her phone as she twisted the lollipop stick in her mouth, and Jester journaled.

The diffused mid-afternoon sun gave way to its weak, late-afternoon counterpart. Just as Jester was considered finally getting up to turn on the cabin’s lights, there was a knock on the door. Well, on the doorframe.

“Hey, Yasha,” said Beau. She had pulled a toothmark-pocked lollipop stick out her mouth to say this, and half gestured with it.

“Hello,” said Yasha. She then turned to Jester. “Jester, can I speak with you?”

“Of course,” said Jester. “Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, no, that’s alright,” said Yasha. She leaned in the door, like she was trying to do the light switch trick but from the outside of the cabin.

“Do you guys need to be alone to have some girl talk?” said Beau.

“No, I just wanted to ask…” Yasha almost seemed to steel herself. “What was Molly saying to you before?”

“Before when?” said Jester.

“ _Pretty_ ,” Yasha replied immediately, in Infernal. Her accent was cute even on the single word, and for a split-second Jester forgot the context and imagined Yasha was saying it to her, about her.

Beau looked between the two of them, her eyes ever so slightly wider than usual. Jester shrugged. “Oh, right. It was nothing.”

Yasha shoved her hand into her pocket. She looked like she was gripping something. “Nothing?” said Yasha.

“Uh huh,” said Jester, “Promise I would tell you if it was anything important.”

Yasha nodded. “Okay.” She pulled her knife out and flipped it open. “You know what will happen if you didn’t.”

Jester squeaked in spite of herself. Beau gave a short, breathy laugh, but Jester wasn’t sure if it was at her expense, or just Beau’s way of appreciating the knife trick.

Seeing Jester’s reaction, Yasha closed the knife. Beau stuck the lollipop stick back in her mouth, pouting just the slightest bit. Alright, Jester assured herself, it was probably the knife tricks.

“That was a joke,” Yasha clarified, before Jester had time to get too flustered, “but I will be upset.” Jester nodded. That was just as well. Stabbing a fellow leader probably wouldn’t lead to a positive environment for the campers.

“Okay,” said Yasha, apparently content at having said her piece, “I’ll see you at dinner.” And just as abruptly as she had appeared, she was gone.

Beau rolled onto her side and looked at Jester with absolute delight on her face. “When were you gossiping with Molly in Infernal?”

Jester shook her head. “We weren’t gossiping, he was just helping me with something.”

“What does _pretty_ mean?” said Beau. Her accent was also cute, mostly because mimicking another non-native speaker made her sound a little drunk.

“ _Pretty_ ,” Jester corrected.

“ _Pretty_.” Beau was nearly spot on her second go. “What is it, a swear word?”

“Yes,” said Jester, without thinking.

“Huh, wouldn’t have pegged Yasha as one to have a problem with that,” said Beau. “ _Pretty_ ,” she experimented forcefully. Jester tried not to laugh. It was the equivalent of someone trying to say _bubbles_ aggressively in Common. “ _Pretty_!” Beau made direct eye contact this time, and she and Jester broke into broad grins for wildly different reasons.

“Careful, Yasha will hear you,” Jester said, faux-scandalised. In the corner of her prayer journal, Jester began a small sketch of Beau and her “swearing”.

“I think Yasha likes you,” said Beau. And then, “I’m going to get changed.”

“Are you announcing yourself because you don’t want me to look, or because you do?” said Jester.

Beau rolled her eyes. “You can look if you want. I’m just being considerate and giving you some warning.”

“Sure you are. Also, Yasha likes everyone. She’s very friendly.”

“You knooow that’s not what I meaaaan,” said Beau in a sing-song voice, before pulling off her shirt.

Jester shook her head. “If she likes anyone, she likes you. She woke up super early just to go running with you.”

Beau shook her head back. “I think she just likes running. She complained a lot afterwards, but she’s pretty fast for her build.”

Beau finished changing back into the clothes she’d been wearing earlier in the day and sat down on her bed. “Are you drawing me? Should I pose?” Beau struck a pose before waiting for an answer.

“No,” said Jester, slamming the journal shut.

“Disappointing,” said Beau, “Do you want me to show you how to do the flat sheet again?”

Jester looked over the side of her bed. The sheet had come astray in the middle, for what seemed like the millionth time. “You said you were only showing me once.”

“Yeah, but it’s annoying me.”

“You’re annoying me by bringing it up all the time,” said Jester, a little more tentative than she had been on the subject this morning. It was true, but Beau seemed worn out and like she might respond better to the softer touch.

Indeed, the change in tone seemed to do the trick. Jester saw Beau’s jaw briefly clench, and then just as quickly relax. “Okay. Not my bed, not my business,” said Beau, laying back. She yawned.

“Are you tired?” said Jester.

“I guess. Caleb’s a lot to deal with.” Beau paused and stared at the ceiling absently for a beat. “Caleb and I together is a lot to deal with, I think I mean. But we’re working it out.” Once she had said this, Beau pulled the sheet over her head.

“G’night,” said Jester.

“Night,” came the muffled reply.

Jester continued to journal peacefully for a while. She hadn’t been as diligent with it these past few days, but then again, everything else seemed strange and in flux at the moment, why not her devotionals too? It wasn’t like The Traveler was the god of rigid scheduling.

“You do understand, don’t you?” Jester prayed quietly. Beau gave a grumbled noise of inquiry from beneath the sheet. “I’m just talking to myself, go back to sleep,” said Jester at a normal volume.

“’M not asleep,” said Beau. “Just resting.”

“Uh huh,” said Jester. The only times Beau was still for more than a few seconds in a row was when she was asleep, so her protests were unconvincing. “Well, how about you go to sleep now, and I wake you up when it’s time for dinner?”

There was an extremely pregnant pause. “Mm hmm,” said Beau eventually. Jester was fairly sure that was agreement.

Jester couldn’t feel The Traveler, but there was a lot more going on out here compared to back home, especially in terms of people. Maybe The Traveler was shy. Maybe Jester was too distracted. She hoped it was the former, but suspected the latter. But a few days without hearing from Him wasn’t a problem, right?

Jester steadied herself, though, and persisted in her drawing. If she couldn’t hear her god, she could definitely hear her mother. Mama’s voice, that mix of confused and awed and afraid, as she glanced over the chaotic journal pages and asked, “Is this for your little friend?”

Jester would always nod. When she was younger, she would grin proudly. When she got older, she would bite her lip, because she knew these things scared Mama, even if she wouldn’t say it to Jester’s face. But Jester would always nod, and Mama would always kiss her forehead, and then they would go about their nightly business.

Maybe Mama had been right to be afraid. It was The Traveler, that compulsion planted inside Jester, that had meant she couldn’t stay in Nicodranas. All the same, Jester wished Mama could understand the awe, the exquisite warmth her little friend made her feel, and missing both of them at the same time made the ache in Jester’s chest almost unbearable.

Beau stirred and Jester was jerked back into the present. She checked the time. “How do you always know when it’s time to eat?”

Beau folded the sheet down to her waist. A little bit of static lingered in her flyaways. “I’m a simple girl with simple needs.” She rubbed one eye as she sat up. “Also, I’ve always had a really good sense of smell.”

Jester began to rummage around for her socks. “You can _smell_ dinner from here? Enough to wake you up?”

“We’re only two rows down, and it’s not oppressive or anything. It only wakes me up because I’m practiced. What happened to your heels?” Beau pointed to the line of band-aids, half of which had already come unstuck.

“New shoes.” Jester grimaced, and held up her boots.

“Ah, right,” said Beau. “I get that. When I was a kid, I used to bring my new boots on camp to break them in. The humidity helps. High risk, high reward endeavour though.” Jester nodded, as she slipped her second pair of socks on. “Oh, I see what happened.”

Jester frowned at her. “What?”

“Using two socks makes the blisters worse,” said Beau, “More friction. Read a book.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” said Jester, exasperated.

“To break in boots? One pair of thick socks, put band-aids and moleskin on _before_ you blister, and certainly before you bleed.”

Of course, Beau had an answer for everything. Jester threw herself back on her bed and said nothing, for fear she would either snap at Beau or cry or, for maximum embarrassment, both. Jester wasn’t sure why this was her breaking point. Maybe looking stupid in front of Beau was too much on top of missing everyone. Maybe it just meant Jester should have taken a nap as well.

There was a pause on Beau’s end. “It’s uh… it’s okay.” Beau sounded extremely unsure and somehow more gravelly than usual. Jester said nothing. She heard the sound of bedsprings, and then a very quiet, “You’re not crying, are you?” Jester looked over and saw Beau was standing on her bed, trying to see Jester’s face.

“Of course not!” said Jester, indignant almost to the point of being enraged, because she wasn’t crying. Whether or not she felt like doing so was entirely irrelevant.

Jester rolled over towards the wall, trying to put as much of her back to Beau as possible. The sound of Beau dismounting the bed followed shortly thereafter. “Good, because it’s not worth crying about,” said Beau, all the gentleness gone. The harsh tone felt more natural on her roommate, but Jester wasn’t sure that meant she preferred it. “C’mon, we gotta go while the food is still hot.”

Jester didn’t move. “You go without me.”

“Nope, that’s my trick. You don’t get to pull that one on me, sweetheart.” Jester groaned, barely even registering the pet name. “Jester?”

Jester flopped back onto her back, and lolled her head to look at Beau. “What?” said Jester, and for the first time ever she saw Beau flinch at her tone. Jester immediately felt terrible, and then even worse when Beau poked out her tongue out at Jester, looking unsure.

Jester poked her tongue out back. She was still frustrated, although she didn’t know at who or what exactly, and now she was embarrassed that she’d done the tongue thing enough times in the past three days for Beau to pick it up as some sort of code.

Beau relaxed at Jester’s reciprocation. Jester went back to staring at the ceiling, and muttered to herself in Infernal. “Stupid camp. Stupid boots. Stupid, smug, pretty know-it-all. Urgh!” Jester trailed off as Beau moved into her field of vision, standing over her, offering a hand.

“Are you calling me _pretty_?” said Beau. “ _Pretty know-it-all_?” Beau’s accent was so clumsy, but so earnest.

“Yeah,” said Jester, taking her hand. “Because you are one. Want to fight about it?”

“Whatever it means, I probably deserve it,” said Beau. “It’s a beautiful language, by the way. I was able to take a few languages in school, and I would have totally picked Infernal if it had been offered. But, you know, Empire.” Beau pulled on a bomber jacket as Jester laced up her boots. “ _Pretty know-it-all_ ,” Beau repeated.

“Pretty, stubborn, infuriating Empire girl,” said Jester.

Jester and Beau made their way out onto the veranda, and began towards the hall. Beau sped up so that she could turn and face Jester as she spoke. “ _Pretty, stubborn, infuriating Empire girl._ ” Beau was doing the thing non-native speakers did where they had to curl their lips up strangely to make the right sounds.

“Stop repeating things when you don’t know what they mean,” said Jester, slapping Beau lightly on the forearm.

“That’s pretty much how I learned Halfling as a kid,” Beau said, wiggling her eyebrows. “ _Pretty, stubborn, infuriating Empire girl._ ” In hindsight, Jester should have known by now that telling Beau not to do something was obviously the best way to guarantee it would keep happening.

“ _Empire_ is Empire, right?” said Beau.

“ _Empire_ ,” said Jester.

“ _Empire,_ ” Beau mimicked. “See, now we’re getting somewhere.”

The pair reached the hall without further incident. But after serving themselves their meals, the two of them were barely halfway to their usual table before Beau called out to Molly, of all people. “Molly! You’re a shit-stirrer, you’ll tell me.”

Molly rubbernecked at Beau. “I’ll tell you what?”

Beau and Jester both sat down up Molly’s end of the table. “Jester called me _pretty, stubborn, infuriating Empire girl_ ,” said Beau, the desire for a translation implicit.

Molly remained surprisingly straight-faced. “Your accent is terrible. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Molly then turned his attention and raised an eyebrow at Jester. “Does she know?” he said in Infernal.

“That I was mad at her when I said it? Yes. And she’s guessed the word _Empire_ ,” Jester did her impression of Beau’s affectation, before shifting back to her own, “but that one’s pretty obvious.”

Beau rolled her eyes, clearly unhappy to be cut out. “I’m literally right here guys.”

“Her accent isn’t actually that bad,” continued Molly, flipping Beau off without looking away. Beau pulled a face and returned the gesture. “She obviously has a good ear. She’s just not used to the nuance in some of the sounds.”

Jester nodded. “Exactly. It’s kind of cute, though. Makes her sound almost like she has a lisp.”

“ _Stubborn_ ,” said Molly, over-emphasising Beau’s affectation. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Beau folded her arms. “Why do I feel like I’m being patronised?”

“Shit-stirring you asked for, shit-stirring you get,” said Molly, switching back to Common.

“Mollymauk, are we playing nicely?” said Yasha, who had been skulking on the edge of the conversation since it began.

“Why am I getting sole blame?” said Molly, throwing up his hands defensively, which pretty much answered Yasha’s question. “Miss Jester here is also speaking Infernal.”

“Miss Jester and I have had words already,” Yasha said as she sent Jester a pointed look.

Beau waved a hand. “I do appreciate it, Yasha, but I’m fine defending my own honour against these two assholes.”

“I don’t think your _pretty Empire friend_ will be making your plate for breakfast tomorrow, Jester,” teased Molly, spearing some carrot.

“She doesn’t have to make me a plate. She’s not my mother, and I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself,” Jester said, entirely in Infernal.

Molly laughed heartily. “You may be _capable_ , but don’t tell me that you don’t like it,” he said primarily in Common, clearly baiting a reaction from Jester by giving the rest of the table some clues as to what she had said. Not that any of them made anything of it.

“You suck,” said Jester lamely. Molly seemed disappointed by the muted reaction, which was exactly what Jester had intended.

“Alright Molly, you’ve had your fun,” said Yasha. Molly blew her a kiss, and Yasha mimed catching it and throwing it over her shoulder. “Nice try. Behave yourself.”

“Molly’s in trouble,” sang Jester quietly, and all three of Beau, Molly and Yasha laughed. And for the first time in weeks, Jester could almost hear The Traveler laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be obvious reading this chapter, but for this fic I definitely wanted to play around with the fact that characters all speak different combinations of languages. However, I didn't want to assign different languages explicitly to real world languages (apart from the pre-existing Zemnian-German) either in name or in function. So yeah, all the languages are called what they're called in DnD, and AU Wildemount definitely still has a very multi-lingual culture.


	16. You Can Judge By The Cover ‘Cause It’s Shitty On The Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Nerds by Bo Burnham 
> 
> I lived, bitch(es).
> 
> We're largely out of the woods now, although I still have exams to go. Also, I have a commission project due early July, so we should all be excited to see what that does to ~~my muse~~ but based on previous experience I will normally write other things to procrastinate writing the Important Thing, so good news for y'all.
> 
> (Also- if anyone ever actually looks up the songs I use- Nerds is about bullying, so fair warning that it's got slurs featured fairly prominently and references to self-harm, if that's not gonna butter your eggroll mental health-wise)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It was unclear who of the two of them had been more surprised about Beau coming to Molly for assistance, even for something petty as this.

“Jester called me…” Beau did her best to repeat the phrase. She wondered if her accent sounded like Halfling to him and Jester. That was the main criticism she’d gotten from her Elvish and Dwarfish teachers, that every language somehow turned to Halfling on her tongue. Even Dairon, who on principle was more pleased when Beau came to them for homework help than concerned about her actual performance on said homework, had offhandedly referenced Beau’s strained Elvish accent.

“You’re a native speaker,” Beau had sulked, “and everyone else has been learning since they were, like, five.”

“I can tell from the fact that you’ve never been kicked out of a language class that you enjoy them quite a bit,” Dairon had said coolly. “And I know because we are a big grown up fourteen-year-old now that we can’t admit to liking things anymore, but I can see why not being able to do the accent because you started late can be frustrating, especially when you’re passionate about the subject.”

They were right, of course, on all counts, but Beau wasn’t about to admit that. “It’s just easier to do business with people if you can talk to them in a language that makes them comfortable. And it gives them less chances to fuck you over.”

“No swearing,” said Dairon, not for the last time. “Is that way of doing business something your dad taught you?”

“Take a wild fucking guess, Dee,” Beau had said, pre-emptively standing in anticipation of the drill Dairon had then predictably assigned for disregarding the warning about swearing.

As if to answer Beau’s question, Molly looked her straight in the eye and said, “Your accent is terrible. I have no idea what you’re saying.” He didn’t even look amused, and Beau wondered how badly she could have mangled the phrase.

Molly and Jester exchanged words in Infernal. Beau heard Jester emphasise the word Beau was pretty sure meant ‘Empire’, but couldn’t pick out anything else.

“I’m literally right here guys.” Beau tried to roll her eyes, hoping they would see it as a legitimate complaint about their rudeness rather than Beau whinging about being left out. The pit in Beau’s stomach only grew deeper when Molly flipped her the bird without even looking away from Jester. She flipped him off back, and then began to wolf into her dinner, hoping that would make her feel better.

Jester said something while looking at Beau, probably about Beau, to which Molly seemed to agree. He emphatically repeated one of the words from the phrase? insult? whatever Jester had called Beau earlier. He seemed to take on an affectation when he said it, judging by the way he changed from his lilting accent to a brief moment of childish breathiness, bunching his tongue against his teeth and curling his lips.

They were making fun of her.

Beau could feel herself flush right up to her burning ears. “Why do I feel like I’m being patronised?” she said, trying to stay even. Trying to make it a joke, or at least one she was in on.

Yasha, who had been half-tuned in up until this point, looked to Molly with a frown. He ignored her, and Beau tried to as well. Beau didn’t need rescuing. She didn’t want rescuing. Most of all, she didn’t want to look like she wanted rescuing.

“Shit-stirring you asked for, shit-stirring you get,” said Molly, finally switching back to Common. She supposed it did serve her right. That’s what she got for asking a favour of the bastard.

“Mollymauk, are we playing nicely?” said Yasha. Fjord, who Yasha had been chatting with, was looking their way. Even Caleb and Nott had broken their conversation to observe.

Caleb and Beau locked eyes. Caleb reached into his oversized jacket, and pulled something out just far enough that Beau could catch a glimpse of orange fur. Beau shook her head. _Maybe later_ , she mouthed, not actually intending to take him up on the offer. But the fact that he had made it did make her feel better. Maybe the cat really was magic. Or maybe it was just that Caleb wasn’t talking past her like the others.

“Miss Jester and I have had words already,” Yasha said, as Beau tuned back in.

Beau wasn’t sure what Yasha had said in her defence in the interim, but she could rather the conversation was over than prolonged by Yasha’s well-meaning attempts to assist. “I do appreciate it, Yasha, but I’m fine defending my own honour against these two assholes.”

It was Fjord’s turn to make eye contact with Beau now. He made no gesture, but Beau could tell they both were having the same thought at the same time. _Acting like assholes._

Beau realised suddenly that she hadn’t had this in a long time, that conspiratorial exchange of looks while people were talking at you or about you. She had missed it, a lot.

Beau didn’t catch what Molly had said next, but Jester responded by switching back into Infernal, huffing irritably at him between sentences.

Molly, as ever, was quick on the response. “You may be…” he dropped in an Infernal word, Beau guessed either because it was difficult to translate or because he was expecting it would get a reaction from Jester. “…but don’t tell me that you don’t like it.”

Molly certainly got the latter. Jester gave the same little pre-scowl twitch she had given when inspecting Beau’s legs back at the cabin. “You suck,” she said, flicking a pea across her plate.

She was trying to mask her reaction from Molly, and while Beau’s shitty superpowers let her see that clear as day, Molly clearly was not blessed with the same gift. He pouted when he didn’t get an apparent rise out of Jester, and again when Yasha cut him off. “Alright Molly, you’ve had your fun.”

Molly blew Yasha a kiss, but Yasha was having none of it, performing a deliberate catch and release. “Nice try,” said Yasha, “Behave yourself.”

“Molly’s in trouble,” teased Jester, and Beau laughed along with Molly and Yasha in spite of herself.

As Beau settled in and took another bite of food, she looked over to see Jester watching her with a sudden wonder. “What?” said Beau, throwing a pre-emptive middle finger to Molly when she realised that she’d spoken with her mouth full. He closed his mouth back around whatever remark he had been about to make and smiled sweetly at Beau. Prick.

“I’m glad y’all have been able to form whatever weird-ass friendship is happening here, but you gotta cool it with the gestures once we have children on site,” said Fjord.

“Friendship? I fucking hate Molly,” Beau said, putting on an artificial grin as she maintained her position flipping him off. Fjord gave the same small shudder at her smile that he’d done with her Stepford routine. He was a smart man who valued his life. Molly smiled back, because he was not.

“I’m hurt to hear you say that… Beau.” Molly stumbled ever so slightly as he began a “Miss” but caught the error.

Beau lowered her hand and her gaze, and started to stab at individual peas on her plate. “You might as well call me Miss Beau, you’re doing it with everyone else.” Beau ate a forkful of peas and went back to stabbing. “Besides, it makes an already not funny joke even less funny if you don’t.”

“And now I’m hurt to know that you don’t think I’m funny, Miss Beau,” said Molly, eyeing her curiously.

“I’m sorry,” said Caleb half called out so that he could be heard from up his end of the table, “did my ears deceive, or did Beau just concede ground?”

“Ha. Ha.” Beau stabbed another two peas for emphasis. “Don’t make a whole thing of it,” Beau warned generally, but gestured with her fork to the two men in specific, “I don’t actually care about being Miss Beau, I was just in a weird mood yesterday.” That first part wasn’t entirely true, but it was near enough in this context.

“You’ve been in a weird mood the whole time I’ve know you,” said Yasha.

Beau nodded curtly. “Thanks, Yasha.” She wasn’t wrong, though.

Jester stood, clearly finished with both her meal and this line of conversation. “I’m going to get desert, do you want some too, Beau?”

“Uh… yeah, sounds good,” said Beau. Jester flounced off, and Molly watched her go, looking smug for whatever reason. Beau hoped it had nothing to do with whatever they had been discussing earlier. She tried not to dwell on what they could have been discussing full stop.

Speaking of Jester, though… Beau intentionally timed her pace through desert so that she was done at the same time as Fjord. As they both left the table, Beau came up next to him. “Fjord, you’re from the Coast, right?”

Fjord looked slightly nervous. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

Beau felt herself glance back at Jester, who had continued talking to Yasha long after her ice-cream had melted, and was apparently still going. “Do girls hold hands on the Coast? Like girls who are just friends?”

Fjord seemed to do some mental arithmetic. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Beau hadn’t actually expected to feel the genuine relief she did now, but felt it she did.

Fjord just looked confused. “Why?”

“Jester keeps trying to hold my hand, and I was letting her, because I figured that she was from the Coast and she didn’t know, like, the implications. But then I had this awful moment this afternoon where I realised that I know jack shit about the Coast and maybe it actually meant exactly what I first thought it meant.”

“Which is?” said Fjord.

Beau reached for a way to say it without making herself sound dumb. “Romantic connotations, basically.”

Fjord took long pauses as he chose his words. “And you… would not… want that?”

Beau scoffed. “Please, Fjord. I’m a tragic lesbian and a founding member of Team Delinquent, but I have a basic level of decorum and professionalism.”

“Of course, my apologies,” said Fjord.

“Whatcha talking about?” Jester said directly into Beau’s ear. Beau whipped around to find Jester standing on tip-toes to lean over the partition between the dining and serving area, flanked by Yasha.

“How long have you been there?” said Beau, employing her classic strategy of instantly implicating herself.

“How long should we have been here?” said Jester. Beau was still working out the finer details to distinguish between Jester smiling because she was amused and Jester smiling because she was Jester, but this one seemed to be the former.

“We just walked over a few seconds ago,” said Yasha. “The first thing I caught was something about you being a tragic lesbian.”

“See, there we go, Jester, a woman who knows how to give a clear, straightforward answer.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy Yasha’s clear, straightforward answers during debrief,” said Jester, leaning in unnecessarily close to Beau’s ear again.

With all the leaning, Jester overbalanced and began to fall forward over the partition. Beau pushed Jester’s shoulder so that she instead swung back to land on her feet. Now, that was the instinct that made Beau good at this job, Beau thought to herself. However, it did delay her ability to process Jester’s statement.

“Wait, Yasha, you’re in Norda’s debrief group?”

“Yes,” said Yasha.

“Who in the pantheon of gods did you upset?” said Beau. Yasha looked taken aback, and Beau quickly adjusted course, “I just mean, I’m glad to know debrief’s not going to suck now.”

“Why?” said Yasha.

Caleb had been absolutely right about Beau conceding ground to Molly, and Beau didn’t think she could do that and go through the vulnerability of explaining that she thought Yasha was cool in the same hour.

“You know, I just get the impression that Norda likes you, so maybe she’ll chill out a little.”

“Why do you think she likes me?” said Yasha.

Beau fell back on her other default strategy: unnecessary caginess. “I don’t know Yasha, I’m not a mind reader.”

“No,” Yasha said, “I mean: what makes you think she likes me?”

Beau was stumped on that one too. “Given her relationship with Norda as a point of comparison, it must seem like Norda’s ready to take anyone she barely tolerates out to dinner,” offered Fjord both helpfully and hurtfully.

“Yeah, you only say that because she likes you,” said Beau.

“She very much does not,” said Fjord. “Also, case in point.”

“You’ve got me there,” said Beau. “And on that note, I’m going to go take some respite to emotionally prepare for being stuck with the warden talking at us for an hour and half.”

Norda did indeed talk at them for almost exactly an hour and half. Beau did her best to stay engaged and, when that failed, to seem engaged. During the latter, she mostly snuck glances at Yasha, because she might as well balance the strain of her desperate lesbianism across a couple of her co-workers.

Yasha, to her credit, seemed very attentive throughout. Beau had positioned herself in the circle close enough to Norda that there wouldn’t be accidental eye contact, but far enough away so as not to give the impression she was trying to suck up. Yasha, meanwhile, sat directly opposite Norda, and maintained a level of eye contact that both frightened Beau and made her strangely jealous. Which was not to say that Yasha’s focus was amiable. Beau wondered if it was like making eye contact with animals at the zoo, and if so, which of the two the glass was keeping safe.

Norda took the liberty of interrupting Beau’s admiration of the female form at around the eighty-minute mark. “And how about you, Beau? Any concerns you’d like to discuss, things you need to soundboard?” She was trying to catch Beau out with her timing, which was frankly unnecessary, given the question itself was already a trap.

“No, I’m doing alright so far. Fairly seasoned at this point, I’m pretty hard to rattle.” Norda’s face twitched her contempt.

“How are you finding Caleb?”

“He’s fine,” said Beau.

“A ringing endorsement,” said Norda.

Beau tugged at the loose thread in the picnic rug near her bent knee. “What do you want me to say? I just met the guy. He hasn’t killed me, I haven’t killed him, that’s not bad given my temperament.” Leaders in the group who hadn’t worked with Beau laughed politely, and those who had nodded sagely.

Norda pursed her lips so hard that they were almost invisible. Beau had an idea of the kinds of things Norda probably wanted to say about her temperament, but at this stage the withering look was enough of a shot across the bow to reel Beau in and satisfy Norda’s honour.

Beau couldn’t help but be a little pissed, though. The holier-than-thou need to give advice grated Beau. Always had. When she was younger she had grouped it in with the complaints that she wasn’t being treated with the respect that adulthood should have earned her, but time showed that this particular bugbear was its own beast.

On one of the many restless nights where Beau found herself perpetually scrolling on her phone, unable to sleep but unable to anything about it, she had spent an otherwise wasted half an hour or so trying to put a name to the beast. Information asymmetry, was what she found eventually. Norda liked the power of knowing more than her subordinates.

But she didn’t always know more. Or if she did know more, she didn’t know how to use it. Which was typical, in Beau’s experience.

Norda had moved on with things, but Beau had not. But she kept her mouth shut, which she did a lot more than people gave her credit for. She had a whole host of questions that she wanted to fire back with. _What do you think I need to discuss with the group? What is it you think that I’m doing wrong? If you don’t trust Caleb, why did you pair him with your loose cannon? Why did you hire him at all? Why did you hire me? Why am I here? When does this charade end, where we pretend that I deserve to be on this camp, that I deserve people trusting me with their kids, that I deserve to be happy, that I deserve-_

Beau pinched her calf. _Get your shit together._ Self-pity was a wasted exercise.

Beau repositioned herself so that she was kneeling. It was just uncomfortable enough to stop the kite of her thoughts from catching the breeze, but not so uncomfortable that it would draw attention. Beau was itching for the kids to get here. She was ready to be dopey with the exhaustion at the end of every day, for her brain to finally go quiet. That was better than food, better than wine, better than girls. Just a goddamn moment of peace in there for the ten minutes between her head hitting the pillow and the oblivion of sleep.

In truth, she didn’t need this job for the money. She definitely liked the money, but in the end the Cobalt Soul would always put her up if she needed it, no matter the empty threats they made of excommunication from time to time. And the kids were fine. She even got a little attached to some of the ones that she saw year after year. But what really kept her coming back was the promise of those seven hundred minutes of solitude from even herself.

Beau glanced up at Yasha, only to find Yasha was looking right back at her. On instinct, Beau looked away, and then realised that was stupid, and looked back. Yasha had seen it all, of course.

Trying to save face, Beau flicked her eyes to indicate Norda, and then gave a yawn.

“Are we keeping you up, Beau?” said Norda.

“Hmm?” said Beau, innocently. Norda clenched her jaw, the vein in her forehead slightly more visible, but resumed whatever she had been droning about.

And Yasha, who hadn’t given a single readable twitch the whole damn time Beau had known her, suppressed a smile.


	17. There’s A Devil In This Town, Swear He’s Up To No Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Devil by Arms Akimbo
> 
> A little something to tide us all over during the final push of the semester for me.  
> It was a nice break to write this and I hope, as always, that you enjoy reading!

Yasha was doing her best to discern what kind of player Norda was. Yasha had known there was healthy rivalry between Norda and Gustav, but for Fjord and Beau to both come out on the offensive did not sit well with Yasha.

She approached Beau after the debrief team meeting. “I see what Fjord meant about Norda not liking you. What did you do?”

“She doesn’t not like me, she _hates_ me. And why does everyone assume it’s something I did?” said Beau.

“Because, if was something she did, then you would hate her,” said Yasha.

“I do hate her, she sucks.” Beau folded her arms.

“Okay.”

Beau had this strange confidence in the way she took up space that Yasha admired. She had perched herself on the barrier between serving area and the rest of the hall, and was kicking her feet against the MDF sides just hard enough that one could hear the echo of the hollow interior. 

“Want come with me to steal some soda?” said Beau.

“Steal?”

Beau tilted her head, made a face. “Not actually steal. We get a free can of soft drink every day. Just remember after Sunday that you just can’t drink it in front of the kids.”

“So you get in the habit of drinking yours at night?”

“Helps me sleep,” said Beau with a shrug.

“Because you crash from the sugar?” It seemed a sound enough strategy.

Beau frowned. “No,” she said defensively.

“Oh, sorry. I had just assumed.”

“Whatever.” Yasha wasn’t sure of Beau’s tone, but it seemed more dismissive than upset.

Beau hopped down off the barrier and started towards the kitchen without Yasha. “I will come with you, if you’d like,” Yasha clarified.

Beau stopped, snapped her head back to Yasha. Was that a brooding expression? Beau’s eyebrows seemed too creased. “I’m not looking for pity company.”

“I’m not offering any. I am being bribed with soda.”

Beau instantly softened, and gave a slight snort. “I’ll show you where it is.”

The soft drinks were kept, as one might expect, in a corner of the walk-in fridge. Beau had to leverage her full weight against the door to get it to move, refusing any help from Yasha. The cold was very nice, ill dressed as they were, and Yasha was almost disappointed how quick the journey into the frosted depths was. She made a note to return to the freezer if she got homesick any time soon.

Beau handed Yasha a can. “There, now that you know where they are, you won’t need my help again.”

Yasha decided against a joke about Beau probably still needing her help on the door. “I will write it down so that I don’t have to bother you again,” she said instead.

Beau didn’t really acknowledge the comment, instead drawing pictures in the condensation of the can. “Do you want to go sit outside?”

“Sure.”

Beau led the way out to the same patch of grass they had been painting on... was it really only a few days ago? Beau sat cross-legged, and so Yasha did too.

They were silent for a long time after that. Not so long that Yasha found it unbearable, but definitely beyond what Molly would have tolerated. Beau kept looking at her, and then looking away, the same way she had in the meeting.

Yasha tried to sip at the drink, but in truth she hadn’t really wanted it that much.

“So, you have been on camp a lot,” said Yasha eventually.

“Yep,” said Beau.

“Cool,” said Yasha.

They sat in silence for another half-minute before Beau pulled her knees up to her chest. “The walk-in is freezing,” she explained, although Yasha had offered no query or criticism.

“I would hope so. That’s how you keep the food edible.”

Beau looked at Yasha, and finally held her gaze. “You don’t like the soda,” Beau said, and now it was Yasha’s turn to look away in embarrassment. She had hoped she was better at hiding it.

“It’s just a lot before bed,” she said.

“You don’t have to drink it.”

Yasha paused. Her next question was probably one she would rather have asked Molly, but what the hell, she could go straight to the source. 

“Is soda how you offer to be friends in the Empire?” The question made Beau look… startled, maybe? Or like there was an uncomfortable sort of recognition? Yasha hastily added context, hoping that would help. “Fjord also bought me soda today, and then we talked. And now you’re doing the same.”

“Do you guys not have soda in Xhorhas?” said Beau.

Yasha frowned, and then smiled. “We have soda. It doesn’t mean that offering it indicates the same thing. In Xhorhas it’s more… a children’s drink, I suppose? Or you mix it with spirits, but mostly for children.” Beau looked away at that last part. Her profile was outlined perfectly by the moonlight, and now Yasha could definitely see a brooding expression.

When Beau said nothing more, Yasha added, “I have been in the Empire for eight months.”

Beau took another sip from the can and plucked a blade of grass. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

Yasha shrugged. “Well, now you know anyway.”

“This is pretty much as far east as I’ve been, so that’s pretty lame, right?” said Beau.

“This is about as far west as I have been.” Beau looked at Yasha with surprise and she shrugged again.

“Well, how about that?” said Beau with mock wonderment. Without otherwise moving from her position, she lifted her foot, placed the can underneath, and stamped down.

“I’m sorry if I offended you with the children’s drink thing,” said Yasha, “I’m still learning my social graces, as Molly says.”

“It’s-” the word _fine_ formed one Beau’s lips, but she seemed to recall it at the last second. “It just reminded me of a thing I used to get told a lot, is all. Not your fault.”

“Okay,” said Yasha.

“You still don’t have to drink it,” said Beau.

“Did you get me soda because you want to be friends?”

“…I guess?”

“Then I will drink it.” Yasha took another sip.

“Seriously, stop,” said Beau, making a snatch at the can. “You’ll suffer enough being friends with me, you don’t need to start out suffering as well.”

Yasha smacked Beau’s hand away, like Jester had done with Yasha this morning. Beau looked temporarily wounded, much more than Yasha intended. But then, whether it was a trick of the moonlight or something within Beau herself, her eyes glinted, and she made another snatch for the can.

Yasha put her left hand against Beau’s sternum, keeping her at bay. With that same savage glint in her eye, Beau used both hands to shift that hand into a nasty wristlock. She clearly wasn’t trying to hurt Yasha, but now the two of them were stuck in this strange, entangled stalemate on the ground.

“You’re well-trained,” said Yasha.

“I think the instructors at the Cobalt Soul would beg to differ, but I’ll take it.” Beau lunged again, reaching for the can with one hand while keeping Yasha’s wrist pinned against her sternum with the other. Yasha was completely open now, and Beau easily snatched the can. So easily, in fact, that as she ripped it from Yasha’s grip towards herself, Beau sent soda flying over the both of them.

In the aftermath, Beau looked at Yasha, mouth ever so slightly agape, red already beginning to flood her face and neck.

Yasha felt herself give the lightest scoff and then, realising her wrist was free again, shoved Beau gently away. Beau turned redder, if that were somehow possible, but before her spluttering could turn to coherent words Yasha mumbled, “You didn’t tell me that my options were drink it or wear it.”

And then Yasha started to giggle, and then to laugh in earnest. Beau didn’t reciprocate, just sat there dumbstruck and slightly foul looking. “Glad you think it’s funny,” she said, turning away. But Yasha could see her profile starting to soften around the edges when a voice called out Yasha's name across the dark.

It was Molly.

Beau moved before Yasha, standing and wrapping her jacket around herself tightly. Yasha wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to leave, that she was still mad at Molly and didn’t want to see him yet, but she stumbled trying to find the words and so ended up saying nothing.

“Uh…” Beau bent down and grabbed both cans. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Yasha said instantly, before even truly deciding.

Beau nodded, and made herself scarce, herself and Molly exchanging places like orbiting bodies. 

“Miss Beau didn’t want to talk to me?” said Molly.

“I don’t want to talk to you either,” said Yasha, standing.

“Yasha…” Molly laid a hand on her chest and she batted him away. Not at full strength, but the most strength she would use on him deliberately. Molly looked like he felt it too. There was a flinch underneath his exaggerated pout. 

“Mollymauk. I do not. Want to talk to you. Right now,” Yasha hissed.

“Why are you sticky?” Molly looked puzzled as well as pained.

Yasha folded her arms. “Beau poured soda on me.”

“And that leaves me with no follow up questions,” quipped Molly, before he pouted again. “Are you still cross with me, Miss Yasha?”

“I don’t want to play this game tonight, Molly. You told Jester I thought she was hot. I am angry about it.”

“Firstly, the connotation of that words is a lot less tacky that you make it sound,” protested Molly.

Yasha stepped towards him. He held up his hands, _whoa there_ , but Yasha had no interest in stopping. “I don’t care,” she snapped. “I’m not looking for anything, Molly, and I don’t need you helping me, or whatever you think you’re doing.”

Yasha had known the rage was coming, but she was always surprised by the force. Having nothing else on her, Yasha took The Magician’s Judge out of her pocket and threw is good distance, hearing it make solid contact with a tree somewhere out in the dark. Yasha then stormed off to grab it.

“Yasha!” Molly called out. She could hear him jogging behind her to catch up.

“You keep pushing and pushing, and it’s too much!” Yasha stood and did an about-face towards him, The Magician’s Judge closed in her hand. As much as she wanted to sometimes, she would never threaten him with it.

“I’m sorry,” said Molly.

“Are you?” said Yasha, “Because you keep doing this. Ever since we’ve gotten to camp, you keep being like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly repeated. 

Yasha let out a groan or a scream, she wasn’t sure. “Stop being sorry! Just listen to me!” she yelled after, and then felt herself tear up slightly.

Yasha hated, in some respects, that all that fuss finally got through to him. “I am listening,” he said gently, “and I’m sorry to have behaved in a way that gave you the impression that I was not.”

“Tell me what I need to know to understand this, because I am spending my days happily with strangers and then whenever I am with you, I’m infuriated. And that scares me, Molly. It's like you're someone else.” Yasha folded her arms, but still squeezed The Magician’s Judge in her fist.

Molly dragged him hand down his face, pinching his nose. “Is now a bad time to tell you that I think this fight is over a misunderstanding?”

Yasha glowered at Molly, and for both their safety gave no reply.

“I understand that who I am around a big group of people is unfamiliar to you. But do you really think that little of me, that I would say something like that to Jester, in front of you no less?” There was a unique tone of pleading in his voice.

Again, Yasha gave no reply, but not because his point wasn’t valid.

Molly folded his arms, mirroring Yasha, and lifted his hands free only to make quotation marks in the air. “For the record, I said that _you_ were… “hot”– if that’s how you’d like to translate it– and that so was Fjord, but that Jester might want to dial it in a touch nonetheless. I was teasing _her_.”

Normally that sort of revelation would take the air out of Yasha completely, but with her rage it only dampened her moderately instead. “ _Dialling it in_ is really something coming from you,” she replied, as cuttingly as she could.

“And that’s how you know that it’s a joke.” Molly reached to pat her folded arms, and then thought better of it, likely because she was still brandishing The Magician’s Judge. “But you have every right to be mad at me, because I didn’t explain when given numerous opportunities.”

“Yes, I do,” said Yasha.

Molly scratched the back of his head, doing his best to look sheepish. “But we’re learning, okay? You are learning that people in the Empire pour soft drink on you to demonstrate their affection, apparently. And I am learning exactly how much I can antagonise your other friends before it upsets you, and that I need to talk to you very explicitly about anything that comes within ten miles of being romance related, lest I mislead you as to my intentions.”

Yasha unfolded her arms and clasped the pendants of her necklace in her free hand. “Talk to me, yes,” she said sternly.

“And these are things that would not have come up had we not been at camp, no?”

“No,” Yasha affirmed reluctantly.

“And that is why things are different. Nothing more. Trust me, my dear, I don’t want us to fight. You must have realised that for someone so beautiful, I am still very lonely.” Yasha looked away, up at the stars, as Molly continued. “I know it might seem like I start petty squabbles for the attention, and that is true with most people. But I find fighting with you both very boring and very upsetting. Beau, on the other hand…” Yasha shot him the look that meant _Really? Now?_ and he nodded apologetically. “What I mean is, I consider you a close and valuable friend. Far too valuable to lose because I didn’t know when to stop teasing. So please believe me when I say that I am sorry, and that I never want to fight like this again.”

Yasha stood for a long time, looking up through the tree line at the stars. Then she put The Magician’s Judge in her pocket, and released the pendants. “And I am sorry for losing my temper.”

“On the contrary, I think you had your temper quite in hand,” said Molly, “which I admire very much.”

“Okay,” said Yasha, because that was all she had left in her.

Molly rubbed his face again. “Now, I would have brought it upon myself if this were the case, but is there any chance this emotional vulnerability will turn you into a flight risk?”

The sky was clear of clouds. “No,” said Yasha.

“Because I would try to cover for you,” said Molly, “but I’m unsure about the dynamic Nott and I working alone would bring to our menagerie.”

Yasha allowed a slither of a smile. “They would be entertained.”

“One would hope.” Molly reached out and touched her, and she let him. “Let me make this up to you, Miss Yasha. Tell me what I can do. I could help you with your hair?”

“You don’t need to do that,” said Yasha, because he didn’t.

“But would you let me?”

Yasha swallowed the burning lump in her throat. “I was very sick last time, Molly, so that was the exception for now. I appreciate that you have taken on board what I said about it, but…”

Molly held up a hand to indicate that no more explanation was needed. “Too intimate, I understand.”

“Why don’t you work out how to get the stain out of my shirt? Will that do for your self-flagellation?”

Yasha found herself in Molly’s cabin not a minute later, the plaid shirt she had been wearing around her waist now buttoned up where her t-shirt had been. She sat on the floor, back against Molly’s bed. 

For reasons Yasha could speculate but had no particular interest in confirming, Molly had been given one of the single occupant cabins near the mess hall. These came complete with a basic toilet and sink in the corner, the latter of which Molly was now using in his quest to remove the stain from Yasha’s shirt.

“This is a vibrant red colouring. That cannot be good for you,” Molly said. He then turned back to glance at Yasha for perhaps the fifteenth time. “Claustrophobic?”

“Yes, but no worse than my and Nott’s cabin.”

Molly was sans shirt, now that he was splashing about in the water, and anyone who cared to look could easily see the cigarette scars on shoulder blades. Yasha knew just as well about the systematic ridges along his thighs. He’d tattooed black lines along the lone four ridges grouped on his left forearm, having the artist complete the image by drawing a diagonal to make a tally mark. Yasha didn’t know if he actually wanted to tally anything, or if it was a just a convenient design to cover the otherwise less concealable scars. A lot of his tattoos were somewhere between artistic choice and practical purpose.

“I only ask because you’re staring again,” said Molly. “I’ve got the nine eyes on me; I don’t need your two as well.”

Molly had invested in the tattoos he had chosen. His serpent. His flowerbed. Pyramid. Sun. Moon. They were elegant, and they did their job tastefully. Molly didn’t want to ink over the tattoos that he’d woken up with, but neither did he have any particular interest seeking out the person who had covered his body in tattoos.

With Molly sometimes it was _my body_ , sometimes _our body_ , and on rare occasions _their body._ Yasha could never tell if Molly used that last pronoun for the vagueness or the plurality, but she understood the strangeness of language that a lapse in memory brought. Molly was a more extreme case, of course, but that sense that her body had been somewhere else doing who knows what rang a sickening kind of familiar to Yasha. She wasn’t sure that she believed in the nefarious _them_ of her own body, but what else was a person if not a series of memories? And if she couldn’t access those memories, then how could whatever she did really be her?

“Hold this,” said Molly, holding out the shirt.

“Bossy,” complained Yasha, but she stood and complied. As Molly passed her, she reached out and touched the peacock, avoiding the tailfeather that camouflaged the eye.

“This is a museum, Miss Yasha,” chided Molly, as he slipped out of her reach, “We do not touch the artwork.” He retrieved his dressing gown off the back of the door, and wrapped himself in it the same way Yasha had done to with a towel in front of Beau. “There, now we won’t be distracted,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.

“Peacock,” said Yasha, unsure if she was referring to Molly or the tattoo.

Molly returned to her and traced a few fingers lazily under her chin. “On second thoughts, you seem tired, maybe I shouldn’t keep you up,” he said. “I’m sure I can figure this out myself.”

“Okay,” said Yasha. Bed did sound good. She’d had quite a day.

Even with that prompting, Molly didn’t make a move for any further physical affection, so Yasha hugged him. She felt him relax once she did, and so she hugged him tighter.

“Oh no, just when I had my guard down, now she’s going to crush me to death!”

Yasha released him, shaking her head. “Sleep well,” she said.

“I love you too.”


	18. Home Is Just A Room Full Of My Safest Sounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan
> 
> Once again, I wrote this to procrastinate, but also I just finished ep. 92 y'all and I needed to comfort myself after the emotional damage of watching Marisha/Beau cry for I swear a full hour (ACTING!!).
> 
> Okay, I'm going to try to go and make better decisions now. Hope you enjoy!

Beau had been in a strange mood when she returned (late) from her team debrief. She was also sporting a new red stain on her shirt and bomber jacket.

“How was The Warden?” asked Jester.

“Fine,” said Beau in sharp staccato.

Jester closed her journal. “Are you tired again?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Beau sat and started to untie her shoes. “I’m going to bed.” Once freed, Beau threw her shoes at the skirting board on her side of the room, snatched up her toothpaste and toothbrush, and exited, presumably to sit on the railing outside.

By the time Beau returned she seemed to have relaxed somewhat. At least, her movements were a lot less jagged and erratic. “How was your meeting?” she asked.

“Boring,” said Jester.

“Cool. I’m getting changed.”

“Okay.”

Jester may have watched, but only out of the corner of her eye. Plus, Beau had said before that Jester could look if she wanted, so it was fine if she had wanted to look properly. Which she didn’t.

When Jester woke the next morning, Beau was gone again, her empty bed infuriatingly well made. Jester began her usual routine, taking her pill box– the one Mama had bought for her because it had a doughnut on the lid– from under her pillow and swallowing the contents with a small mouthful of water. And then she laid back down and fell back to sleep.

Next thing she knew, Beau was rousing her. “Rise and shine!” she announced with excessive cheer.

Jester groaned and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into her pillow. She was alert now, but that didn’t mean she actually wanted to get out of bed.

“Oh, it’s a tough life,” said Beau, using the same voice she always did for that sort of comment. It was specific enough that Jester wondered if Beau was imitating a particular person.

Jester turned her head so that her ear was still on the pillow, but she was looking over at Beau, who was fluffing her hair with a towel. “G’morning,” she said, breaking into a grin when Jester finally made eye contact. Whether it was the post-run high or the day not having worn her down yet, Beau always seemed more amiable and attentive of a morning.

Jester buried her face back in her pillow. It was too early for this shit. She wasn’t sure what shit that was, exactly, but she knew it was definitely too early.

“Yasha and I are starving, so if you’re going to sleep in some more, then we’ll just leave you to it.”

“No, I’m up, I’m up.”

“Then be up,” Beau said, gesturing accordingly.

Jester complied. Well, she reassured herself, it didn’t really count as complying if it was what she was going to do anyway, and if she poked her tongue out at Beau while she did it.

Beau poked her tongue out back.

Jester knew already that she was having one of those days where, meds or not, her brain was short circuiting right out of the gate. Exiting the cabin flanked by Beau and Yasha, only to be greeted by Fjord at their table, certainly didn’t help matters. She wanted too badly to be liked by them, and on this sort of day that gave her a headache.

Normally Jester could retrace her steps to find the change in her routine that had sent her brain into revolt, but this entire camp was a complete upset of everything she’d ever done, so that made the job impossible. Had she taken too much quiet time, or not enough? Were things moving too quickly, or too slowly? Was this job too easy or too hard? She had no idea.

Once seated, Jester found herself staring vacantly into the middle distance. Beau soon arrived with a plate for her, because Jester had of course forgotten her resolution to object. At least Molly didn’t take the opportunity to rib Jester about it, probably because he could read the room.

“Are you okay, Jester?” he asked in Infernal, as Beau took the seat next to her.

Beau obviously had no way of knowing exactly what he had said, but could probably infer by tone. “Someone woke up grumpy, is all,” Beau condescended, adding insult to injury by ruffling Jester’s hair.

Jester ducked forward and pushed Beau’s hand away. At least Beau had the decency to look suitably reprimanded while Jester glared.

“Having a roommate who wakes up early getting you down?” said Molly, in Common this time.

“Something like that.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “Eat, before it gets cold,” she commanded.

Jester made a sock puppet motion to indicated Beau’s ongoing bossiness. Molly was delighted, of course, but Yasha also put her hand up to her mouth to suppress a laugh, which made Jester perk up just a little. Beau, meanwhile, was already eating and thus either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Jester started rubbing her forehead, hoping to perhaps shake loose whatever cog had gotten stuck in her brain this morning, apart from the cycling thoughts about pretty girls, and pretty boys, and by The Traveler why was everyone on this camp so _pretty_?

“Hey.” Caleb requested Jester’s attention with the single word and a light touch to the shoulder. When Jester looked up at him, he was inexplicably brandishing a stuffed cat. “Can you hold this? I need to use the water closet.”

Caleb skimmed over eye contact from Nott, who seemed kind of pissed, and Beau, who seemed inquisitive, and took his leave. Jester sat the cat in her lap awkwardly, and tried not to spill anything on it as she ate.

“Maaaagic cat,” Beau muttered, probably just to herself, between bites.

Once Jester was full, she sat back and concentrated on running her fingers through the fur. It was a good quality toy. Jester had learned to recognise the price of any stuffed bear an admirer gifted her mother by the texture of the fur alone, and this cat was made of the expensive kind, although it had clearly been thinned out by at least a decade of love.

Jester resisted the urge to swing her feet while she rolled the fur between her fingertips, like she would at home, because she really couldn’t take any more shit from Beau this morning. Still, making tracks and patterns in the fur with her fingernails cleared some of the brain fog. And Jester couldn’t help but notice that Caleb, upon his return, had clocked her change in demeanour and in turn looked quite pleased with himself.

He seemed even more pleased to have the cat back, though.

In the absence of something to do with her hands, Jester took a lollipop from her stash and put it in her mouth.

“Really? This early in the morning?” said Fjord.

“Yeah,” said Jester. Even with the clearer head, looking directly at Fjord or Beau or Yasha for too long would be akin to staring into the sun, so she kept looking at her plate.

“Let a girl live a little,” Molly told Fjord, holding out a hand to Jester expectantly. Jester passed him a lollipop. He unwrapped it and spent just a little too long with it lingering on his tongue, waiting for a rise and a gentle smack on the hand from Yasha before he closed his mouth around it.

“I’m adding that to the list of things we can’t do around the children,” Fjord said. “This list will be formalised in writing if that’s what it takes.”

Molly pulled the sweet from his mouth with a satisfying _pop_ before speaking. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he said. “Jester, I think you should hang out with Nott and I again today, give Yasha and Fjord another chance to bond over being stoic and boring.”

Molly looked at Yasha to gage her reaction. Jester still only gave her a short glance, but Yasha seemed to find the idea inoffensive enough.

“Fine by me,” said Fjord.

“I’ll trade Caleb for someone, if that’s an option,” said Beau. Caleb and Nott both scowled.

“It’s not,” said Caleb.

“Eh, worth a shot.”

As the table dispersed, Jester caught Molly’s eye and mouthed _thank you_.

He nodded quickly and approached her, shifting to Infernal for discretion. “I hope I’ve not embarrassed you away from engaging with Fjord and Yasha, Miss Jester.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Jester tried to find the words. “Bad brain day,” she said eventually.

“Anything I can do?”

“Not really, it just happens sometimes.” Jester shrugged. “I’m sorry to worry you. I’ll be myself soon, food normally helps.”

Molly shook his head. “I’m not bothered in the slightest, as long as you’re okay. You’ve met my tall friend, so you know that I don’t need sunshine and unicorns at all times.”

“I do like sunshine and unicorns, though,” said Jester, rubbing her forehead again.

“And you’re well within your right to,” said Molly. “I’ll see if I can work my silver tongue so that The Gentleman doesn’t compound the issue by giving us too menial a job.”

True to his word, Molly managed to score the trio the task of making camp rules posters to hang around the camp. This gave Jester a chance to pictorialize each rule as Nott printed each rule neatly. Molly, in his own words, took managerial role.

“Is music okay?” he asked Jester.

“Can I pick?”

“Sure.” Molly passed over his phone.

Jester scrolled through the selection, pleased to quickly find a number of artists from the Coast that she recognised. But there was one in particular the caught her eye.

“Oh, I used to listen to this album with my mom all the time!” said Jester.

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not,” said Molly.

“My mom is really cool,” said Jester. She hit play on the album and immediately felt the nostalgia wash over her brain like cool water on a sunburn. It was sort of folk, sort of pop, but overall it was just the kind of bubblegum nothing that was fun to sing along to while you were doing something else.

Jester remembered that for the period from mid-morning to mid-afternoon– the time when her mother’s companions were most likely to be gone– she would sometimes be allowed to turn the music on through the intercom system so that it could be heard through the entire house. She would bounce up and down on her bed, and then her mother’s bed, and then jump between the couches. She would slide on socked feet along the polished wood again and again, Bluud doing his best to stop her slamming into the wall at the end of the hallway. She would bury herself under a pile of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor and burst out to her mother’s perpetual surprise. All while some couple sang about love, or missing each other, or the kind of surface heartbreak that could be resolved in two verses, a bridge and four choruses.

Jester knew the album well. It was thirty-two minutes long, and she would often beg to listen to it the full eight times that this sort of respite period could normally contain. Sometimes Mama conceded, but mostly it was allowed twice, once at the beginning and once at the end, and Jester would have to pick something else to play in between. Or Mama would pick something, usually prettier, but more boring. But Mama never, ever allowed her guests to interrupt. If Jester had begun an album, then they would just have to wait until it was finished.

“A little bit of anticipation never killed anyone,” Mama would say. Which was true. And besides, anyone who couldn’t wait the extra fifteen minutes didn’t deserve Mama anyway.

“The girl has a nice voice,” offered Nott.

Jester was humming and kicking her feet as she drew. “You should hear my mom do this song. She had a cover on one of her live albums.”

“You guys must be big fans,” said Molly.

“I don’t know if Mama is, but I certainly am. I would always ask her to sing it to me at night if she wasn’t busy, so it ended up in her concert repertoire even though it was less her style.” Jester finished one drawing and slid the poster up to begin another. “Like I said, my mom is really cool.”

“She sounds cool,” said Nott.

“What was her style?” said Molly, picking the phone up off the floor.

Jester grinned. She liked talking about her mom, even if it gave her that twinge of homesickness. “She was classically trained, but she would play around a bit. Lots of piano, she was good at piano. That’s what she would compose on.”

Molly nodded, and turned his phone so Jester could see the album he’d found. “Yep, that’s her,” said Jester with a grin. Molly showed Nott, who nodded at the album art.

“Classy looking lady,” said Nott.

“She is,” said Jester. Slide the poster up. Next drawing.

Molly’s fingers flew across the screen of his phone and just as the current song faded out, it returned again, but this time in Mama’s voice.

Jester held her breath. Molly looked impressed at what he heard, which made Jester’s heart ready to burst. Nott just looked at Jester, eyes wide.

“Alright, alright,” said Molly, nodding. “I’ve never heard of her, but please tell that’s because I’m uncultured.”

“She’s pretty famous on the Coast. It’s a little bit more their speed, you know?”

“Yes, no culture here in the Empire,” said Nott. Jester frowned. “I’m only joking.”

By the time the song ended, whatever had seized in Jester’s brain had finally come unstuck. _Nothing like Mama to make you feel better_ , thought Jester, smiling to herself.

Slide poster. Next drawing.


	19. I Like To Be Alone But It's Bad For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from I Spend Too Much Time In My Room by The Band CAMINO
> 
> Hey y'all!  
> Thank you all for your patience and for your lovely comments, especially on that most recent chapter. I was sort of nervous about it, and I'm really glad people were connecting with it so strongly <3
> 
> Exams are over, commission submitted, and I am now in the late stages of moving house. I'm still getting internet set up on my desktop computer, but that should be resolved today or tomorrow and I'd really like to bang out some more chapters before uni resumes. So you know, manage your expectations but perhaps be on the lookout??
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all are keeping well, and enjoy!

Jester was being weird today, and not the usual cute weird. Just weird.

Not that Beau was in any sort of place to judge relative weirdness yet, she reminded herself. Still, Jester definitely had a terminal case of sunny disposition, and seeing her acting mellow and irritable really threw Beau. And not that Jester didn’t have the right to the full spectrum of emotions, but this had been like a switch had flipped overnight, which was Beau’s least favourite kind of sudden change.

Besides, Jester acting all mopey came dangerously close to encroaching on Beau’s brand.

“There is trouble in paradise, I see,” said Caleb, as he came up alongside Beau as they both returned from brushing their teeth.

“What?” said Beau.

“You and Jester have had a fight.”

Beau immediately folded her arms. “No, we haven’t. Well, not today, or last night. I don’t think. I’m not even sure if we had fights on previous nights or if I was just one-sidedly being an asshole.” Beau shook her head, “Also, we’re not together, and it’s pretty-”

“I was making a joke. Please try to keep up.”

Beau ran ahead and started to walk backwards. “You need to work on making expressions while you do humour.”

“You need to work on the fact that you use endless ribbing and low-level aggression as a poor disguise for your attraction to Jester.”

Beau brought her folded arms in even tighter. “I also use low-level aggression with Molly.”

“Ah, but you don’t make bedroom eyes at Molly.”

“I do not make bedroom eyes at Jester!” Beau hissed, stopping them both dead. Caleb raised an eyebrow. “I don’t!” The second time she said it was a mix of question and insistence, and Caleb swapped eyebrows.

“Then what is this face?” Caleb made a face that was a strange mix of partial expressions. Mouth twitching between neutral and a smile. Eyebrows moving everywhere from happy to sad to surprised. Steady but soft gaze. Gulping, quiet breaths. And of course, touching his lips, self-silencing.

The broad gestures a person could fake, but the twitches gave away a level method acting for genuine emotion. Whoever Caleb was thinking about to make that expression, he clearly liked them a lot. Which was to say that, infuriatingly, it captured exactly what Beau felt.

“What’s that supposed to be?” said Beau, feigning ignorance. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” said Caleb, dropping the act for a hint of irritation instead. “You look at her with the wide-eyed wonder of a schoolgirl.”

“Poetic as that sounds, I still have no idea what you mean,” Beau insisted. Caleb clenched his jaw. Beau reminded herself to look away, to not get caught up in what people’s faces were doing, but with his evident frustration she still felt the need to find an excuse. “I don’t know, I just like having friend to hang out with. Breakfast and dinner with a big group, it’s nice.” To be fair, that wasn’t even a lie.

“You think of us as friends?”

Beau shook her head, not to deny it, but to warn herself against the affirmation that was already leaving her mouth. “Sure. Don’t let that go to your head. I’m not going to take a bullet for you or anything.”

Caleb gave a small snort. His body relaxed. _Stop looking. Who gives a shit what he thinks?_ “So, because you are so angry and violent all the time, normal human affection registers as besotted, right?”

“You’re the one telling this story,” said Beau.

“And what about Yasha?” Caleb said. He made a more intense, less ambiguous version of his earlier face. That, in Beau’s opinion, was bedroom eyes.

Beau grinned. This, she was more comfortable with. Lust was somehow less amorphous and vulnerable. “Yasha’s hot. I’d tell her that to her face.” Beau thought for a moment, before caveating. “Probably, I wouldn’t want to make it weird or anything.”

Caleb laughed. “Your courage knows no bounds.”

Beau stopped dead again so that she could smack Caleb on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

Beau smacked him again, as close to the same spot as possible.

“What was that second one for?” Caleb protested. He made an attempt at smacking Beau back, although she was more than able to deflect him.

“Just because the first time was kind of fun.”

Caleb scowled and continued walking. Beau considered smacking him upside the head as he went past– it would have been easy– but she didn’t want to push it that much.

Beau jogged so she was in front again. “But, speaking of Jester, I can’t help but notice you gave her the magic cat.”

“I did.” Caleb raised his eyebrows when Beau didn’t say anything more. “Was there a follow up question to that?”

“No.”

“He’s my cat, I can give him to whoever I want.”

“I don’t want your dumb cat.”

“Just as well.”

Beau really didn’t want the cat, especially if that meant taking it away from Jester, who seemed to benefit from its magic even more strongly than Beau. Beau was jealous, but she knew herself well enough that she suspected it was probably less to do with the damned stuffed animal, and more to do with Caleb being able to make Jester feel better so quickly.

Comfort was not exactly Beau’s specialty. In terms of modelling, her parents were largely a bust, and she suspected that her dynamic with Dairon wasn’t going to translate to this context. Not that it stopped her unthinkingly slipping something she had heard from one of the three of them every now and then.

When Beau woke up in A Fuss, as her mother would call it, or A Mood, as Dairon would call it, she usually found sympathy long depleted. Back home Beau learned to hide out in the dim light of the cellar and carve shapes into and out of old staves. Waking up in A Fuss didn’t exactly make her enthusiastic about working on the bookkeeping. The same with schoolwork when she was in A Mood. Dairon gave up on fighting it pretty early on, learning quickly from their mistake when they had taken a kick to the rib after pulling the quilt off of Beau when they found her skipping out on class.

“So you’re not asleep, then,” they had said.

Beau had covered herself again by means of reply.

“Beauregard, we don’t kick people without warning.”

“Clearly _I_ do.”

Dairon has given a long sigh, and sat in the bed. Beau had scooted against the wall so that she and they weren’t touching. “You know the position this puts me in, Beauregard. I can’t in good conscience reward this kind of behaviour with my attention.”

“Then don’t, because I don’t want your fucking attention.”

“Language.”

Beau banged her head against the wall in frustration. She meant to do it a couple of times, maybe bring herself some relief, but Dairon blocked her with their hand. Then she felt Dairon reach under the blanket and pinch her neck, and then lightly brush over the base of her sacrum.

“I think we should do some qigong.”

“Glad it’s that fucking simple.”

Dairon pinched her neck again, but this time actually pinched, like a bitch would when her puppy was misbehaving. It didn’t hurt that much, but Beau kicked anyway. “Fuck off. Fuck off. _Fuck off._ ”

Dairon withdrew their hand, but didn’t move from the bed. “It hurts when you kick me,” they said.

“That’s the idea.”

“Explain why you’re upset. Explain why you need to hurt me.”

“Because I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You can’t see this, Beauregard, but I’m keeping a tally in my arm for every time you swear.”

“Yeah, because that’s what’s keeping me from being an upright fucking citizen.”

There was a shift in Dairon’s weight. Beau couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like they were perhaps now cross-legged in the bed. “I don’t know if you’re just wanting to test boundaries today, or if something’s the matter, but I figure that you’re mature enough to tell me which, rather than forcing me to figure it out, hmm? Is something wrong?”

A pause. “Yes,” Beau said quietly, not to be meek, but because she was sure she was falling into some sort of trap.

“And what’s that?”

 _Me, I guess_ , was her first instinct. “I don’t know,” she said instead, because that was also true, “but whatever it is, you can’t fix it.”

“Qigong can’t make it worse.”

“Please don’t make me do fucking qigong.”

“That’s six, in case you weren’t keeping track.”

Beau headbutted Dairon’s side through the blanket, and then sort of left her head resting against Dairon’s hip because it felt nice, and she couldn’t summon the will to give a shit anymore.

“I know, I’m so mean.” Beau felt the hand back under the blanket, and Dairon massaging the back of her neck. Beau let them. Everything was shitty, and sore, and maybe Beau could fall asleep and buy herself some more respite. “How about no meditation? Just forms.”

“Maybe,” said Beau, trying not to lean into the touch, clinical as it was. She already felt some relief from the desire to claw out her own brain through her skull, which was honestly cheating on Dairon’s part.

“Ow! Fuck!” Okay, maybe she had spoken too soon.

“It’s a big knot, it will just take a second. Then we can spend the rest of the day in the studio.”

Beau did her best not to tense, knowing it would just make things worse. “What are you going to tell my teachers, that I got the day off because my qi was shit?”

Dairon make their work on Beau’s neck a little gentler, and Beau knew that they were trying to relax the muscles before they really dug in. Tricking the body the way you trick a person. “I think you have a migraine,” they said, not sounding unsympathetic.

_Oh. Was that it?_

“Do you get those much? Are you on your period?”

“Fucking gross, Dee.” Beau wasn’t sure if it was just a coincidence, but as that comment left her lips, Dairon really bore down on the knot. “Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“I know, I know. Keep breathing through it.”

When it was over, Dairon started to run their hand up and down Beau’s spine. Although Beau knew they were just dispersing the blood and fluid build up, she could squint and take some creative liberties and imagine that Dairon was rubbing her back. Not that she cared. Not that she wanted that. But shit, it really did make her feel like she could fall asleep right there if she let herself.

All that was to say that at least Dairon got the job done. They weren’t warm, they weren’t gentle, but they were calming. But of all the things she had learned from Dairon, even that most basic accomplishment had somehow eluded Beau.

“Team Delinquent, how are we?” said The Gentleman. Caleb scowled at the name, which The Gentleman took as enough of a response. “Good to hear. You two are on clearing out the bonfire pit.”

Beau hadn’t thought it was possible for Caleb to get any paler, but clearly she had underestimated his talents. He didn’t object, though, just nodded nodded and walked away.

Beau took a few long strides to close the gap. “You alright?” she said once she had passed him and turned.

“Super,” said Caleb. Needless to say, he did not look super.

“Cleaning out the bonfire pit is way easier than the shed,” Beau offered, which would be her best attempt at placation if Caleb was going to give her nothing else to work with.

Caleb shrugged. “If you say so.”

Beau groaned, turned, and dropped back in line with him. They were silent for a while, although Beau still kept turning her neck, checking his body language in spite of herself.

Disgust. Fear. Disgust. _The fuck was up with him?_

Eventually, she’d had enough. “Are you just going to be silent and moody until I worm whatever it is out of you, or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I apologise that I am not loud and moody, like yourself.” Beau looked over and Caleb had finally cracked something close to a smile. Beau shoulder checked him. “Ow.”

“Spill, or get it together,” she said.

Caleb looked at her strangely. “I just don’t like bonfires,” he said, haltingly.

“It’s not a lit bonfire,” said Beau, by way of reassurance. “We’re basically sweeping up year-old ash and dead leaves.”

Caleb shrugged. He was back to looking miserable. Normally Beau wouldn’t care. She didn’t know why she did care. “Is it redhead trauma?” she said, half joking. “What, did some kid set your hair on fire with a Bunsen burner?”

Caleb blinked. “Something like that,” he said.

“Brave of you to become a chemist then. Your courage knows no bounds, or whatever.”

They were at the outdoor amphitheatre now. Tiered concrete ledges used for seating had been smoothed by weather and use, although they probably hadn’t seen a pressure-wash in decades. As Beau had suspected, no one had cleared the remains of the last bonfire, so in the centre of the pit there was a pile of ash and charcoal covered by a healthy blanket of decomposing leaves.

Beau stopped at the top of the stairs. “I tell you what, given I was an asshole yesterday and left you with most of the shed cleaning, why don’t I do most of the bonfire work today, and you can pull up a seat nearby with Frumpkin until you feel better?”

“Really?” Caleb seemed more surprised than excited.

“Yes.” Beau looked away. “Don’t get used to it. I still intend on being an asshole regularly from here on in, and you’re not always going to get the red-carpet treatment for your troubles.”

The cat had appeared from whatever pocket it had been tucked away in. “You could also choose not to be an asshole,” said Caleb.

“Au contraire, mon frère,” said Beau. “That’s Zemnian, right?”

“It is not,” said Caleb, “but I will accept your deal.”

“Pleasure doing business.”


	20. Gray Areas and Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan
> 
> The internet at the new place is up ;-)  
> Banged this out pretty quickly for something I didn't even have skeleton scenes for, because apparently I've really missed getting to work on my free-time projects
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Beau woke Jester from her nap in the low light of the early evening. Not that Jester had been able to tell that was what was happening at first. Beau seemed almost scared to touch her too roughly or too long– or maybe at all– so it wasn’t immediately obvious what the prodding was until Jester cracked open an eye and saw the familiar silhouette kneeling next to her bed.

“Yes?” said Jester.

The lights were still off, but there was enough daylight to see Beau immediately spring to her feet like she’d been caught doing something illicit. “I was worried you were going to sleep through dinner,” she said apologetically.

Jester rolled onto her back. Her brain had found enough equilibrium that she was probably safe to keep looking at Beau, but she just needed a moment to reorient herself. “What time is it?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jester could see the light of Beau checking her phone. “Six forty-two.”

Jester tilted her head to Beau. “Dinner started twelve minutes ago. You’re losing your superpower.”

Beau looked like she was forming a joke and then rapidly clamped her mouth shut. “I know,” she said instead, and then paused awkwardly. “Can I turn the lights on?”

Jester steeled herself. “Yeah, let’s try.”

“I don’t have to. You can go back to sleep.”

Jester got out of bed, brushed past Beau, and threw on the lights. It wasn’t that bad. Molly had done her a real solid with the drawing and the music, and after lunch and this nap she felt almost human again. Sure, her brain was still overclocking and stalling when she looked at Beau for more than a few seconds, but Jester was pretty sure that was the normal overstimulation of a newer person, unrelated to the fog she’d woken up to this morning.

“Do you, uh, have a migraine?” said Beau.

Jester shook her head. “I’m just out of sorts.”

This was the first time Jester had watched Beau visibly digest something she had heard. “Out of sorts?” Beau repeated.

“Yeah, you know, happens sometimes if I mess with my routine. Or if I overdo it. Or if I underdo it.” Jester frowned in thought. Everyone she’d ever lived with had known her since birth, so it was weird actually having to explain it to someone. “There’s lots of reasons, I guess, but I’ll be fine when the campers come. It probably won’t happen again, and if it does happen, I can grin and bear it. I just didn’t think it was worth hiding around you all.”

“Oh,” said Beau. That was it.

Jester sat on her bed and started lacing her boots. She was getting quicker, which she was proud of. “You have soot on your cheek,” she said, threading the final eyelet and beginning to tie.

Beau reached up and touched her face. “Where?”

“Other one.” Beau missed again. “Here, I can just-” Jester stood and brushed the smudge off Beau’s face with her thumb, and Beau scrunched up her nose like child assaulted with a wet napkin.

Jester stepped back, wiped her hand on her dress. “Satisfied?” Beau asked.

“Dinner?” said Jester by way of answer. She offered Beau a hand, because Beau seemed to like that, and Jester always felt bad for how touch-starved everyone who grew up in the Empire seemed to be. Also, Beau’s hand was calloused on the inside and out, which made it kind of fascinating to hold.

Because she wanted to know what it felt like, and because she was sick of the palm to palm grasp making her feel like she was dragging Beau rather than walking with her, Jester slid her fingers in between Beau’s this time. Jester glanced at Beau, just to check that it wasn’t some sort of Empire cultural taboo.

Beau poked her tongue out at Jester, maybe because Jester was looking too serious about something so simple. She was clearly overthinking it. She poked her tongue out back, and she could swear Beau lightly squeezed her hand in acknowledgement of a message received.

“Good day?” asked Jester a little while after.

“Alright,” said Beau. “I managed to not be an asshole to Caleb almost the whole time.”

“That’s pretty good for you.”

“Yeah,” said Beau.

Beau let go of Jester’s hand the second they entered the hall, probably distracted by the promise of food. “It’s lasagne and salad, I’ll make you plate,” said Beau, already looking to peel away.

Not quite yet ready to take a stand on the plate-making itself, Jester grabbed Beau’s elbow and whispered, “Can you make sure I don’t get any tomato in the salad?” Jester may have felt much better, but the idea of tomato skin against her teeth still sort of made her want to cry.

Beau squinted. “There’s tomatoes in the sauce-”

“I just don’t like them in salad.” Jester bit her lip, and then quickly released it.

Beau nodded in a way that seemed like she was humouring Jester, but also like she was willing to try. “Alright. I’ll do my best.” Then she went off, looking like a woman on a mission.

“You finally made it!” said Molly as Jester sat down. “We thought whatever monster had eaten you must have gotten to Beau as well when she went searching. And while we were definitely worried about both of your safety, we did take this opportunity to decide which of us would be the final girl if this was a summer camp themed horror movie before we actually sent another person.”

“It’s Yasha,” said Nott.

“It’s obviously Yasha,” said Fjord.

“The decision was unanimous, it was a very boring discussion,” said Caleb.

Yasha pulled the seat next her out to offer it to Jester. “I have no idea what they’ve been talking about for the last ten minutes, and the more I listen, the less I understand.”

Jester sat as Molly put down his cutlery, clearly ready to showboat on the issue. “I still cannot get over the fact that you don’t like movies,” he said.

“I do like movies. I just haven’t seen a lot of them.” Yasha gestured to the unarmed Molly with her knife in way that seemed vaguely threatening. “The Iothia Moorland isn’t exactly a cultural capital.”

Molly pushed the knife away. “You don’t like any _good_ movies, then.”

“I don’t have to know much about movies to know that the ones you show me are not good.” She poked the knife at Molly again for emphasis, and then went back to eating.

Molly made a pearl-clutching gesture. “You wound me, Miss Yasha.”

“Did I hear that we were dunking on Molly?” said Beau, laying a plate in front of Jester. Jester hadn’t seen her come up behind, and jumped a little.

The jump seemed to cause Beau to linger in her leaning position, with her head near Jester’s. “You okay?” she said quietly.

Jester glanced down at her plate. No tomatoes. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Beau withdrew and took the final seat, between Caleb and Fjord. “So what are we talking about?” Beau then prompted, taking a mouthful of pasta.

“Yasha would be the final girl if this was a horror movie,” Molly prompted back.

“Bullshit,” Beau said immediately, before chewing and swallowing. “Yasha’s got that effortlessly hot thing down, and she could definitely shank the slasher if she got in close, but she has clearly had sex, so she can’t be the final girl.”

“What?” said Yasha.

Molly grinned widely, although Jester couldn’t tell if it was from what Beau had just said about Yasha or because he finally was getting some spirited debate. “That’s an extremely reductive application of the trope. There’s plenty of examples of non-virgins being the final girl in more modern films.”

“The trope itself is reductive.” Beau seemed energised, but also like she couldn’t make up her mind between food and argument. She shovelled a few quick bites while Molly waited for her, eyebrow quirked. “And those sorts of films are just subversion of the trope. They don’t work unless you’ve already have seen the original form enough times for it to impact your expectations.”

“Are they still speaking Common?” said Yasha. Jester wasn’t completely sure if it was a joke.

“I think what you’re looking for is a thriller film, Miss Beau. Tropes and expectations are the bread and butter of horror.” Molly had turned away from Yasha to face Beau straight on across the table.

“Expectation, yes. Trope, no. Plenty of good horror can be made without cliché.”

“But the cliché is fun. It’s about being campy.”

Beau’s eyes were shining, even as she spoke with a cut of anger in her voice. “Maybe pulp horror is fun for you, but I get fucking sick of watching glorified snuff films where women are punished for their sexuality.” 

Molly sat back in his chair. “I’ll give you that,” he said.

“How generous,” said Beau.

“Who’s the final girl in your movie, then?”

Beau shook her head. “No final girl.”

Molly folded his arms. “Everyone dies? A bit bleak.”

“No, everyone lives.” Beau placed her fork on the plate. “Living can be much worse.”

“Pitch it to me.”

Beau rolled her eyes, but didn’t hesitate long. “The best films are when the protagonists are the slashers all along. They turn on each other not because they’re forced to, not because a supernatural force compels them, but because they want to.”

Molly sat up, apparently surprised by his own interest. “The call’s coming from inside the house but, like, by someone who is supposed to be in there.”

Beau nodded. “Exactly.” She may have started out trying to play it cool, but she’d obviously given this a lot of thought, so the words began to pour out of her. “Maybe there’s prompting from some villain, but they’ve never _made_ to do anything. They're not trapped or coerced, they could have stopped at any time. And if they all live, then they have to sit in the horror of what they tried to do. And how could they admit their involvement to someone who wasn’t there? How could they explain why they did it? Do the others even remember? Did it even actually happen at all? It’s about the fear in the moment, and then the fear of breaking the silence.”

Molly seemed impressed, although not as much as it deserved, in Jester’s opinion. “And it’s a metaphor for what, collective and slash or intergenerational trauma?” he said.

Beau shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not a film critic. I’m just saying that it’s horrifying. Actual horror, not cheap scares.” Beau went to retrieve another morsel of food, only to find her plate empty.

“Cool,” said Fjord, who had been slightly off-colour the whole time, “Can we talk about _anything else_ now?”

“Spoil-sport,” said Molly, but he obliged with a rapid subject change.

Meanwhile, Jester continued to look at Beau, who was drumming her fingers on the table, eyes still lit up. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a dissertation on classical poetry, but something about Beau’s eloquence on the topic made it feel like it might as well have been. Jester wasn’t shocked, exactly, but it was the first time that Jester had consciously realised that, for all her claims of delinquency, Beau was actually super smart.

Beau looked up and caught Jester staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Jester, realising that once again she was going to be the last to finish eating.

Jester’s debrief group was boring. No one from the Tuesday table was in it, and every time The Gentleman looked at her, she felt uncomfortably scrutinised. She doodled in her journal through the whole meeting, which didn’t seem to bother anyone. One of the girls in the group, who had introduced herself as Calianna, even came up specifically afterwards to compliment her work on the posters, having recognised Jester’s art style from across the table.

But overall, everyone, including The Gentleman, seemed focused on getting the meeting over and done with. So, once again, Jester found herself returning to an empty cabin well before Beau.

This left Jester with ample time to contemplate the flat sheet, which was once again adrift. She stood in the middle of the room for a good ten minutes, clutching her journal to her chest and warring with herself.

Eventually, reason won out over obstinance, and she pulled her bedding onto the floor. She cast the flat sheet onto Beau’s side of the room, took the fitted sheet from on top of her dresser, and remade her bed. Then, taste of defeat still fresh in her mouth, she went to clean up before bed.

By the time Jester returned, Beau was already in bed in her pyjamas, playing on her phone. The flat sheet was on top of Beau’s dresser, folded neatly. Beau looked up expectantly when Jester entered the room, a victorious grin spreading across her face.

“What did I tell you? Three days,” she said.

“Whatever,” said Jester, trying to strike a tone that would allow her to save face without dimming Beau’s smile.

Either it worked, or Beau enjoyed being right too much to let anything dampen her spirits. She looked back at her phone, front four teeth still visible. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Yes, Beau, you totally called it.’”

Jester knew she was just teasing, but still Jester echoed her sarcastically. “Yes, Beau, you totally called it.”

“Thank you,” said Beau, clipping the ‘you’ in the way that made it self-righteous rather than grateful.

Jester climbed into bed. The flannelette sheet was soft and had started to pill with age. Jester lay on her side, facing Beau, picking at the little balls of fibre with her fingernail.

While the flat sheet had smelled a little of what Jester guessed was Beau's preferred deodorant– a fairly inoffensive balance of musk and spice– this fitted sheet was clearly older and carried additional notes that Jester couldn’t quite place. This was in part because Beau had clearly doused the thing in her current day-to-day scent at some point, maybe in an attempt to mask whatever that other smell was.

It should have been overwhelming, but honestly Jester found it kind of relaxing. Beau smelled nice. For whatever reason, that would be weird to say out loud, but it was an objective fact. Beau had a subtle but good taste in signature fragrance, and Jester wasn’t about to let herself feel weird for acknowledging that inside her own head.

“Should I turn the lights off?” Jester snapped her drooping eyes open to see that Beau was watching her.

“You don’t have to if you’re staying up,” said Jester.

“Phone’s backlit,” said Beau. She went to the light switch. “Blow it out?” she offered.

Beau wasn’t hiding the switch or anything, but Jester rolled her eyes. “What, I’ve got a rainbow hearts on my bottom sheet now, so that makes me one of the campers?”

“Hey, I happen to think those sheets are very cool,” said Beau with a smirk.

“You blow it out then,” said Jester.

Beau looked at her with a gaze Jester would have found piercing if she hadn’t been moments away from falling asleep. Then Beau blew out the light.


	21. Crying Like A Baby Solved Nothing, 'Cause I Can Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Lone Star by The Front Bottoms
> 
> Back at it again *finger guns* Hopefully the sudden avalanche of chapters isn't too overwhelming for y'all, I'm just really On Fire With The Lord rn  
> Anyway it's time to Get Emo About Yasha  
> Enjoy!

“Is this the part where we bond over being stoic and boring?” said Yasha.

“I think Molly was joking about that,” said Fjord.

“So was I,” said Yasha.

The two of them were taking their afternoon tea on the stairs of the blue cabins. Yasha had a pleasant ache in her arms from carrying speakers up and down the hill, and a slightly less pleasant ache in her quads from running with Beau this morning.

Yasha cut a slab from her apple with The Magician’s Judge and ate it off the blade. “Is that sanitary? Or safe?” said Fjord.

“I wiped it on my shirt,” said Yasha.

“The apple or the knife?”

“Should I be wiping off the apple?” Yasha had relaxed enough around Fjord that she didn’t feel the need to hide her perplexation.

“They spray them with wax in the Empire.”

“They already have wax on them naturally.” There was a limited number of apples that grew well in marshland, and fewer people with a willingness to farm them there, but Yasha had still eaten enough apples growing up to know how they worked.

“I know, but they wash that off after they pick them. So they have to add the wax back on.” Fjord took another bite of his apple. “It’s edible wax, but the texture is weird if you’re not used to it.”

Yasha stared into the middle distance. “This place creates more questions than it could possibly have answers.”

“You’re tell me,” said Fjord. “Okay, how’s this for bonding: what’s your favourite fruit?”

“Blackberries,” said Yasha. That was easy.

“That checks out. You're pretty goth,” said Fjord. “Mine’s watermelon.”

“That also… _checks out_ , was it? Because you like the water.” Yasha chewed on her piece of apple thoughtfully. She could definitely feel the wax now. “Watermelon is good, but I only tried it recently.”

“Didn’t have it back home?” said Fjord. Yasha shook her head, cut herself some more apple. “Is that because of the trade embargos?”

“I’m still working out what was Xhorhas and what was just us,” said Yasha. “Watermelon exports mainly from the Coast, yes?”

“I think so.” Fjord threw his apple core down the hill into a ditch. “I ate a lot of it growing up, which means it was cheap, so I’d have to assume the Coast produces a decent amount.”

“Then it was probably just us.” Yasha shrugged. “Although if it wasn’t embargoed, it still would have had to come by water or air to avoid the Empire, which is expensive.”

“Funny how that works,” said Fjord.

“We had blackberry brambles everywhere. It was basically a pest. You could lose a small child in most patches if you weren’t careful. But I never got sick of it.” Yasha took her time chewing on her next piece of apple. Fjord was good at waiting his turn. “Empire blackberries taste like shit. I guess the soil is all wrong.”

“It’s probably a different type of blackberry too.”

“You’re probably right, I hadn’t even thought of that.” Yasha shook her head, paring the few remaining corners of flesh from the apple core. “Sorry, I somehow always end up complaining about the Empire.”

“It’s nice to have someone to complain with,” said Fjord.

Yasha still felt the need to explain herself. “I do like it here–”

“As do I,” Fjord interjected gently.

“–but they’re just so…” Yasha threw the core in the direction Fjord had. She wasn’t sure how that captured what she wanted to express, but it did.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Fjord. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”

“Sure.”

Fjord swallowed a cube of cheese. Yasha did the same. “You talk about an _us_ that’s separate from Xhorhas. Who’s _us_?”

Yasha nodded. “Ah… I mean my tribe. Community? My people? I don’t know what the right word would be.”

“Tribe sounds cool.”

“My tribe, then,” said Yasha.

“Y’all were pretty isolated?”

Yasha shrugged. There was something not quite right about cow cheese, and too much made her stomach hurt, so she started to crumble the cubes into lumps and then reform them into shapes. “We kept separate, especially from the Dynasty in the north. Mind our own business, and they’d mind theirs.”

“Did something change?”

Yasha formed a lopsided love heart out of cheese. “I don’t understand the question.”

“What happened to the rest of your people?” said Fjord.

Yasha twigged where the miscommunication was. “Oh. Oh! No, they’re still in Xhorhas.”

Fjord looked embarrassed, and Yasha felt terrible. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I’d assumed with the war that you were displaced or-”

“I was. I was displaced.” Yasha crushed the cheese between her palms. “Just not by the war. But I had to leave.” Yasha closed her fist tightly and the cheese started to creep out between her fingers.

“You speak Common?” they had asked her.

“Well enough,” she had said.

“Would you like an interpreter?”

“No. Your accent is funny, but I understand it fine.” The legal aid had given a small smirk, because she at least had a sense of humour. It was important to have sense of humour, because the alternative was to sink into the misery of it all.

“On what basis are you seeking asylum?”

“If I go back, they will kill me.”

They noted that down. Clinical. Yasha preferred that. There was a time and place for hysteria, and that was in private, with her pillow held up to her face or when she sat at the bottom of a shower.

“And why do you believe they will kill you?”

“Because they told me they would.”

“Why would they want to kill you?”

The room was barren, utilitarian, but with enough cracks in the plaster for Yasha to count them and steady herself. “I broke my engagement. I married someone else.”

More notes. “Is that common, for them to kill a person for that?”

“It is not common for a person to do it, so I don’t know. But they said they would, and it was not an idle threat.”

“Where is your spouse now?”

“How do you think I know it wasn’t an idle threat?”

The man asking the questions swallowed. The man who wrote stopped writing. The legal aid sipped on a plastic cup of water. None of them looked nervous. All of them looked at Yasha like they were expecting something from her.

“You are very calm, Ms Nydoorin,” they prompted.

“You think that because you don’t know me.” Yasha continued to carve small crescents into her palm with her fingernails. “I’d rather explain myself than waste my time crying. I’ve cried enough. And I can cry again when I’m safe.”

Realising Fjord was looking as her with mounting concern, Yasha shook herself from her daze. She wiped the cheese off her hands with a napkin.

“Are you okay?” said Fjord. “You drifted off a little there.”

“I’m fine,” said Yasha.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

Yasha put out an arm to stop him standing. “No, Fjord, it’s fine.”

Fjord stopped, sat again. “That was a waste of perfectly good cheese, you know.” He picked a few crumbs off his shirt.

“Sorry,” she said.

“None of my business. You can apologise to the damn cow,” said Fjord. Yasha wasn’t sure she was laughing at the expression for the right reason, but she laughed all the same.

Molly had come to find her not long after. They were striking a new rhythm, finding new symbols, but Molly knew enough of the old ones to recognise the look on Yasha’s face.

“You two swapping tragic backstories?”

Molly stepped a little too close to Fjord, an unspoken threat in defence of Yasha. Fjord tittered nervously, recognising it too. Yasha stood, tapped three fingers against Molly’s collarbone without looking at him. He stepped back, allowed Yasha between them. “I was telling Fjord about the blackberries.”

Molly immediately softened, and laughed. “You can’t satisfy this woman! Supermarkets, farmers’ markets, sketchy stalls by the side of the road, we’ve tried everything. Tells you that she loves blackberries but I’m yet to see her eat one with without making a face.” Honour satisfied, Molly shifted his attention, combing his fingers through the loose ends of Yasha’s braids. “Would you like to come and see my handiwork fixing your shirt?” offered Molly.

“Fjord, want to come?” Yasha passed on the offered in turn. She didn’t want to just abandon him on the steps because their work was done.

Fjord held up both hands, not quite in a _woah_ gesture, but still cautious. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Molly smiled. “We’re not inviting you for a tryst, my dear. No need to look so nervous.”

Maybe it was because she was already primed, but something about ‘tryst’, something about not needing to look nervous called the image she’d avoided for nearly four days to the front of her mind. Not an image that she’d seen, but the image she’d been foolish enough to create. Maybe it was to punish herself for not being there to see it for real.

“You would have been killed as well,” a counsellor had reminded her gently. People reminded her of that a lot, as if her grief somehow blinded her to that fact.

“Then I should have stayed. I should have been with her. I should have-”

“Should. Should. Would you have judged her for running? Or would you have wanted her to live?”

Yasha still couldn’t cry, not with another person there. Not when there was business to attend to, a debate to be had. “That’s different.” She twisted the bead on the end of her braid, the one she’d been letting fall over her eye back then, the constant reminder of her sins.

“How is it different?”

“It just is.” Yasha felt that rage inside her. She could try to believe it was because he didn’t understand, a cultural miscommunication, but in truth even she didn’t know why it was different, she just knew that it was. “I’m a coward.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair on yourself.”

“Why give a coward a fair trial?”

The counsellor had shifted in his seat. “Please remind me, and excuse my ignorance in the first place, but ‘coward’ in Xhorhasian dialect Common, or in your local dialect of Common, it has different connotations?”

Yasha shook her head. “Not enough to make a difference.”

“Sorry, I’ll rephrase. It’s important for women in your culture not to show cowardice?”

“For everyone.”

“But especially the women?”

Yasha had sighed. “Especially leaders, I suppose, so yes.” The Empire was patriarchal, its successions ruled by male primogeniture, which baffled Yasha almost as much as they seemed baffled by her. Although, Yasha was sure she had never felt entitlement like the men here did, but it was still strange to see the water she had been swimming in for so long.

“I’m not saying you should stop viewing your actions through your own cultural lens. But you do have a unique opportunity, living in another culture, to realise there are different ways of thinking about things. Gods know that we are not perfect here in the Empire, but we can offer a contrasting perspective.”

“They will kill you for saying the Empire is not perfect.” Yasha smiled at the crease between his eyebrow. “I’m only joking.”

“But we should talk about that. The other week-”

“I’m learning.” Reminded of its presence, Yasha had picked at the scab on her lip. “The people here are proud of their country. Now I know that pride means wanting better, but that is a new knowledge for me. I can’t say that a year ago I wouldn’t have had the same reaction to an outsider criticising my tribe.”

“You’re very reasonable, Yasha. I think sometimes to a fault.”

“It’s to make up for the times when I’m not.”

The counsellor shifted again. “As we’ve discussed before, anger is just as valid a reaction as sadness.”

“We’ve discussed it before, yes.” Yasha went back to twisting the bead.

“I know you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not a matter of belief. It just doesn’t make sense, even if I understand it logically. When I see her in my mind, I’m angry. I don’t want her to make me angry. I don’t want to have let them…” Yasha pulled the braid taut. “I don’t have a lot of photos of her, and only one voicemail, and I don’t want the image of her in my mind to be tainted by what they did to her and how I feel about it.”

He had nodded. “Of course, I understand.”

“Yash?”

Molly was rubbing her back. “Yes?” said Yasha.

He was frowning. Fjord was too. “I know you’re not okay, but are you _okay_?” Molly gripped her shoulder. “Is a storm coming?”

Yasha looked up to the sky. “You know what I mean,” said Molly, half amused, half frustrated.

“I’m so sorry,” said Fjord. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s clearly… I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you anything I didn’t want you to know,” said Yasha.

How could she explain? Every teenager in her tribe made their first lipstain out of blackberries. Cheap, accessible, and easily done. That was what she had tasted like when they first kissed. And now maybe it wasn’t even about the soil, or the type of blackberries, or anything about the Empire. Maybe it was Yasha herself that made them taste wrong.

“Don’t be sorry,” Yasha found herself begging, “I have to talk about it. I want to talk about it. I just don’t have the words most of the time.”

Fjord had stayed, whether it was out of compassion or awkwardness. Molly had done an admirable job with the shirt. She tried to be there in the room with them, but as they made small talk Yasha lay on Molly’s bed and gave in to the _them_ of her body.

She found herself in the dining hall hours later, Molly holding her hand uncomfortably tight. She was with him in this world again, she assured him in a hushed tone.

Life went on. Beau had gone to find Jester. Molly was talking horror movies. Then everyone was talking horror movies, and Yasha found herself mock-threatening Molly with a knife. Caleb and Nott chatted conspiratorially to one side. Molly delighted in verbal sparring with Beau. Fjord cut them short before it got too rowdy. Jester launched into one of her monologues and everyone listened in a mix of rapture and absolute confusion.

After the debrief meeting, Yasha lurked near the boys’ cabins, hoping to catch Fjord before he went to sleep. And she was in luck.

“I just wanted to check that you were okay,” said Yasha.

“Are _you_ okay?” said Fjord, incredulous.

Yasha nodded. “I didn’t mean to be dramatic. You all seem to be very nice people; I don’t want to scare you.”

Fjord shook his head. “Scared is not at all what I was feeling, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” said Yasha.

“Yasha?” said Fjord as she turned to leave. She stopped, and twisted her head slightly to indicate she was listening. “Closure is a myth.”

Yasha nodded. “A story made up for the comfort of children. What’s the term? A fairy-tale.”

“Exactly. You know.”

Nott was asleep by the time Yasha returned. Yasha was tired, just wanted the day over with, and so she got into bed without getting changed.

She dreamed of the taste of blackberries.


	22. What Will You Do With Those Hopeless Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Literature Lovers by Jose Vanders
> 
> Sup nerds, guess who's fully up to date and has now had to invest in a twitch subscription lmao ;-) ;-) ;-)  
> Also pour one out for my singing teacher* bc episodes air starting at 12pm on a Friday over here and I have my lessons at 3pm on Fridays so she has the potential to catch me 3/4 through episodes from now on lmao
> 
> This chapter brought to you by procrastinating on semester two pre-reading + me listening to 'this is me trying' off the new TSwift album on repeat and thinking about how much of a Beau song it is (even though it's a Jester chapter lol)  
> Enjoy!
> 
> (*unfortunately my singing teacher has known me since I was 14yo and thus has actually seen a lot worse, trust me, she is an angel and a saint)

The pleasant but subtly foreign smell was a little bit disorienting when Jester woke properly to her second phone alarm. She stretched out under the covers, and buried her face into her pillow, which still smelled of the new linen that it was, to escape.

“Morning.” Jester turned her head to see that Beau was sitting on her bed, hair out and still damp.

Jester rolled onto her side “Where’s Yasha?”

Beau bobbed her head from side to side, not looking up for whatever paperwork was laid out in front of her. “‘Good morning, Beau. How’d you sleep?’ ‘Oh yeah, really good thanks, Jess. How about you?’ ‘Yeah, really well, you can tell from how loud I was snoring.’” Beau pretty far off Jester’s actual accent, but it was possible that was the point. “Yasha took a recovery day.”

Jester grinned. “So you’re snarky because your crush didn’t come running with you this morning?”

“I don’t have a crush on Yasha!” She gave an indignant huff. “I got this shit from Caleb yesterday as well, I don’t need it from you.”

“Last night at dinner you literally said that she was ‘effortlessly hot.’” Jester made the quotations in the air.

Beau cringed a little. “Yeah well…”

“I mean, I’m not saying that you’re wrong,” said Jester.

There was a slow blink from Beau, indicating some sort of mental arithmetic was going on up there. But apparently that was just for her own mental archive, because she replied with a change in subject. “First bonfire tonight, are you excited?”

Jester sat up, stretched again. “I am now that I know about it. What do you do at the bonfires?”

Beau began to pull her hair back into the usual bun. “In my experience as a camper, either try to push other kids into the fire or sneak off to make out with a girl in a tree. As a leader, mostly stopping kids from pushing each other into the fire and wandering off for romantic rendezvous.”

“What about when it’s just staff?”

“If Yasha wants to meet me in a tree, I’m not going to object.” Jester wiggled her eyebrows and Beau gave a begrudging sliver of a smile at the effectiveness of her self-depreciating joke. “We’ll basically get a fire safety demo, and then if we’re lucky some more of Norda’s teambuilding exercises.”

Jester groaned, flopping back into the bed. “More teambuilding?”

“Yep,” said Beau, “Norda is going to makes sure we are cohesive as fuck or she will die trying.” Beau began stacking her papers. “Speaking of which, I’ve been waiting for you to get up for, like, an hour. So get dressed so that we can go to breakfast before I start eating my paperwork for sustenance.”

Soon enough, they were making their way up the hill. Beau, clearly with one thing on her mind, didn’t stick around long enough to take Jester’s hand. Which was fine. Not even worth noting.

Breakfast proceeded as usual, until Gustav wandered up to their table, interrupting Beau and Molly mid-bicker.

“Oh, Beauregard…” said Gustav, placing a hand on her shoulder.

" _Beauregard_?" said Molly with devilish glee. Yasha smacked him across the sternum, but his smile didn't falter.

Beau looked straight ahead pointedly, but paused her cereal consumption. “What?”

Gustav looked at Molly and Yasha, and then back to Beau. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to see if you could be on stories this year?”

Beau pulled a face. “Gustav, come on, I’ll lose all my street cred.”

“See, we know from past experiences that’s not true.” Beau rolled her eyes, which Jester was pretty sure was Beau’s way of defusing what she perceived as a compliment. “I saw that. Do we really have to do this dance every time? Or can we cut to the chase?”

Beau groaned. “Fine. Let’s negotiate terms. I get to pick the book.”

Gustav folded his arm, cocked an eyebrow. “Obviously, from the ones available.”

“I still get to do my rostered night duties. I like skulking in the shadows. Find a substitute those nights.”

“That’s doable.”

Beau paused for a spoonful of cereal and possibly some brainstorming. “I get a second can of soda. It’s thirsty work.”

Gustav snorted. “Glad to see your priorities haven’t changed.”

Beau shrugged. “Simple girl with simple needs.”

“Emphasis on the simple,” said Gustav, rapping his knuckles lightly against Beau’s head. She used two fingers to jab him in the ribs.

“Do you want me to read or not?” she grumbled. “I’m doing you a favour, don’t piss me off. Do we have a deal?”

“We do.” Gustav rubbed him rib and Beau quickly lost interest in antagonising him, although she continued scowling. “Yasha, you and Fjord can help Beau get set up for tech side of things, yeah?”

Fjord nodded. “Jester, do you know much about running a sound desk?”

Jester blinked in surprise. “I mean, I’m okay at it. My mom records at home a lot, so I’ve messed around with her equipment.” _Messed around_ did largely mean wreaking havoc on the sound desk whenever the door to the office had been foolishly left unlocked, but that had still left Jester with a respectable knowledge of audio engineering, all things considered.

Fjord looked pretty pleased with himself. “Kind of thought that might be the case. Want to stay up here with your roomie, while we run around outside?”

“Sure!” Jester grinned at Beau, and Beau paused her scowl very briefly.

“Can Molly come with us?” said Yasha. With the various negotiations, she seemed unsure who to address the question to, so flicked her eyes between Gustav, Beau, and Fjord.

“I don’t see why not,” said Gustav.

“Can I go with Yasha and Molly, given they’re my supervising leaders?” said Nott.

“Uh…” The look in Gustav’s eyes showed that he’d immediately clocked his error.

“Can I go either with my co-leader or with my friend?” added Caleb, gesturing to Beau and Nott respectively.

Gustav sighed. “How about I use my powers as a director to assign Team Tuesday to this job in lieu of other chores, and you can distribute the labour how you want. But there is seven of you on this task, so I am expecting the set-up to be _flawless_ by the end of the day.”

“Gustav,” said Molly, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder, “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that I am excited to disappoint you.”

The technical set up for the camp PA system had a ship-of-Theseus composition. It seemed that newer parts were added only as their predecessors broke, and while it would have been inaccurate to say the equipment was ancient, this gave it a chaotic feel that Jester suspected would make it just as temperamental.

Naturally, Jester was instantly enchanted with it.

PAHQ (as Beau referred to it) was tucked into the alcove near the stage where the dining hall chairs had been kept before their arrival. Beau sat in a chair with her feet on the desk next to the sound board. A dented handheld mic was in a stand, adjusted to sit right in front of her mouth, presumably so she didn’t have to go to the effort of holding it. There was no pop filter, and it wasn’t even really even the right kind of microphone for the job. But Beau seemed at home in this space, and something about the ramshackle feel of it just seemed right on her.

There was a dirty window on the outer wall of the alcove, and a lead from the soundboard was using this as its route of escape from the building. Looking out the window, Jester could see that Yasha was using a generous amount of electrical tape to minimise the cable’s abilities as a tripping hazard on the path below.

The light was hitting the building at just the wrong angle, so the sunlight in PAHQ was about as defuse as the struggling bare bulb that hung above the aberrated set up. To compensate, there was an old desk lamp Beau had pointed in her direction as a reading light, which gave off tremendous heat when Jester waved her hand over it.

Yasha knocked on the glass of the window to get Beau and Jester’s attention. “Fjord says you’re good to go," she called through the crack, "Don’t adjust anything on your end.”

“Wouldn’t know how to if I tried,” said Beau. She cleared her throat and stuck an earbud in her ear. “This book is called _The Adventures of the Mighty Nine._ ” Beau thumbed open the first page. “Chapter one: Curious Beginnings. Gustav has told me I can’t do the shit with the devils and zombies when the campers are here, so this special just for you, Fjord.”

“I'm sorry that I want the children to actually sleep!” yelled Gustav from somewhere sidestage.

Beau pulled her feet from the desk and twisted so her mouth was still at the microphone, but she was looking over her shoulder at Gustav. “Well, I hope you’re excited to see how I summarise this chapter before we start on Sunday night. I understand that it's episodic, but they still probably want to know what the hell is going on when we begin.”

Beau then put her feet back up and sunk further down in her chair, holding the book above her and tilting the lamp to accommodate the position. “Good gods, I forgot about the fantasy names. Okay. _Travis, Laura and Marisha arrived at the inn first_ …”

Beau had only been reading for a short while when Jester’s phone buzzed. 

Curiously, she opened it up to find a text.  
  
  
**Unknown:** this is nott. fjord wants to say that if beau’s reading, we can’t hear it. you can reply to this message.  
  


Jester saved the contact, and replied.

  
**Jester:** this is not who?  
  
**Nott:** >:-( . you can reply to this message.  
  
**Jester:** Beau has been reading for like five minutes so that’s probably not good. how did you get my number?  
  


Jester’s phone went off for a third time, and Beau stopped reading. “Everything okay?” she said.

  
**Nott:** fjord had it because he’s your co-leader, but he’s got no service. check everything is plugged in up there? you can reply to this message.  
  


“They can’t hear you,” said Jester.

“Damn,” said Beau, “I was on roll too.”

As she said that, Jester received another text, this time from a different number.

**  
Unknown:** Hello Jester, this is Caleb. Fjord says, “Please ask Jester to check that ‘the master’ is on and turned up to plus fifteen.” I trust that this will be meaningful to you, please text back if you need further information. Caleb.  
  


Jester peered over the sound board quickly.

  
**Jester:** hi Caleb, it’s Jester. please tell Fjord that it is on and it’s at +25db so that’s probably not the problem  
  


“Let me know when I should start again,” said Beau, laying the book on her face.

Yasha, who had clearly had nothing better to do than stand nearby and listen, used the gap in the window to slide the pane open completely and stick her head through. “You’ll want to keep going, because that’s the only way we’ll know if it’s working,” she advised.

Beau groaned and resumed reading, but with much less embellishment than before and much more kicking of the desk when Yasha looked her way.

Meanwhile:

  
**Caleb:** Hi Jester, Fjord says, “Shit. Well, tell her to check all the plugs on her end, and I’ll start investigating ours.” Once again, I trust that this will be enough information for you to carry forward, but message me back if it is not. Caleb.  
  


Jester hadn’t even had a chance to reply when she got another message from Nott.

  
**Nott:** don’t message caleb, he takes too long to type. you can reply to this message.  
  


“How are you even texting?” Beau said, apparently taking any excuse to stop reading for her audience of none. “I can never get reception around here. I’ve only been able to use my phone for its camera and shitty mobile games ever since we arrived.”

Jester shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t had any reception all week. I’m only getting texts from Nott and Caleb, though.” Jester frowned, scrolling back up through her messages. “I’m sure I’d have at least one from Mama if everything was working properly. Maybe they’ve got good coverage because they bought their phones in the empire?”

Beau kicked the desk again. “So did most of us! This is bullshit.”

Beau kicked the desk a few more times, in case her point had somehow been missed. Then, in the middle of winding up for any other blow, there was popping noise from the speakers outside.

Beau froze. _Was that me?_ she mouthed, looking between Yasha and Jester.

“Yes, you intimidated it into working,” said Yasha, resting her elbow on the windowsill.

Beau made a funny expression, held up the book in a way that blocked Yasha, and started reading again. Yasha flicked her gaze to Jester, who herself was unsure if Yasha was confused or amused by the action. Then there was a second series of pops, and Beau’s voice began to echo around the camp.

Beau halted mid-sentence. “Oh, that is too loud. I don’t like that,” she said in asymmetric stereo, before remembering to push the mic away. She then pulled out her earbud. “Not a fan,” she added, in case those present had somehow not taken her meaning.

Jester laughed. Of course Beau didn’t like hearing her voice over broadcast, she was only human. “Move,” said Jester, pushing on Beau’s legs in an attempt to get past.

Beau uncrossed her legs and slammed her feet dramatically onto the floor in succession. “Yes ma’am,” she said. Beau looked sour but she reciprocated Jester poking out her tongue, so she was probably just playacting.

Jester began to pour over the unfamiliar panel of sliders and knobs in front of her. “Fjord said not to adjust anything,” cautioned Yasha.

“Live a little, Yasha,” said Beau. Yasha and Jester both snorted at that, although presumably for different reasons.

Once Jester was able to track down the inputs she wanted, she made her adjustments and gestured for Beau to start talking again. Beau swung the mic back in front of her, but grimaced when she looked at the open book in her lap. “Shit, Jess, I’ve completely lost my train of thought. I don’t remember what I was reading. Oh, hey, but my voice sounds less terrible, though not less loud.”

Jester couldn’t tell if she was smiling more from Beau’s reaction to the fix, or from hearing the diminutive of her name for the second time today. “Oh, you know, I just added echo and turned up the mids. Mama calls it the no-makeup makeup look for the voice.”

Jester’s phone went off before Beau could make any comment.

  
**Nott:** as far as we can tell all but two of the speakers are working. fjord says to sit tight while we try to fix them. you can reply to this message.  
  
**Jester:** most of a sound system working is always more trouble than none of it working. good luck!  
  


Beau was still looking begrudgingly impressed when Jester put her phone down to relayed the message. At the same time, Yasha leaned in the window on both of her elbows. “Find your train of thought,” she said. Jester and Beau both looked at her quizzically. Yasha gestured to Beau, who was pushing the mic away again. “You said you’d lost your train of thought, so find it. I want to know how this chapter ends, and you said you’re not going to read it to the campers.”

Beau blinked, but recovered. “I can just give you the book to read. I’m sure you can finish the chapter by tomorrow night.”

A second passed in which, as far as Jester could tell, Yasha hadn’t had a chance to react, but Beau tensed up like Yasha had snarled at her. “Not a fluent reader?” Beau asked, more concerned than accusatory.

Yasha shook her head, although Beau had phrased the question in such a way that it was unclear what that meant. Yasha’s reply didn’t clear up much either. “I’m good enough. It is hard to find good schools in the wastes. Not a lot of Common Literature studies, you know?”

Beau screwed up her face to the point of being a mockery of mock disgust. “Please _never again_ imply that I would choose to read a book one could classify as literature."

“My apologies,” said Yasha. She rested her chin on her hands, which in turn sat folded on the windowsill, and looked at Beau pointedly.

Beau picked up the book. “What was the last thing I read?”

“Brian had just arrived,” said Yasha.

“Brian, huh? Brian Brian Brian…” Beau’s eyes darted around the pages. She snapped from furrowed brow to wide grin when she finally found the spot. Jabbing her finger at the point on the page, Beau threw her feet back onto the desk, trapping Jester in that half of the room. Then she dramatically cleared her throat, and resumed reading.

Unsure what else to do, Jester sat herself on the floor against the wall and pulled out her journal to sketch while she listened. They were like that for quite a while, long enough that Beau was able to get to the end of the chapter, without any update texts.

Even though Jester was technically tucked out of the way, the tension between Yasha and Beau palpable. At least, there was definitely something coming off Beau with a startling intensity. Yasha was harder to read, beyond seeming content, but they both had locked eyes the way they did during battles of will over breakfast.

“You read well,” said Yasha eventually, dropping her gaze to pick away a flake of paint on the windowsill. “I can see why Gustav likes you for this job.”

“Thanks,” said Beau.

 _Get a room_ , Jester thought to herself jokingly, although the whole exchange set a stone in her stomach that she would probably have to interrogate later, when she was alone.

For now, Jester tried to distract herself by messaging Nott or Caleb. By the time Jester had confirmed that wasn’t going to work, Gustav had made his way over. “Glad we’re paying you ladies to start a book club,” he said cheerily. Beau flipped him off while she dog-eared one of the pages in the book.

Gustav just laughed at her. “Be glad I know you’re a good kid, Beau, or I would be offended by that.”

Beau slammed the book shut and leaned her head back to groan. “First the literature thing from Yasha, then this shit from you, G? This gig has my reputation in tatters and the kids aren’t even here yet.”


	23. When You Move I Can Recall Somethin' That's Gone From Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Movement by Hozier
> 
> It's Emo About Yasha Hours once more lads, and we are Fully Riffing re: characterising Zuala
> 
> Also I completely forgot to say last time, but thank you for more than 200 kudos! I have no idea if that is a lot but it feels like a damn lot to me!! I had just sort of assumed I was gonna be screaming this fic into the void so I'm super excited and glad all y'all are enjoying it with me  
> Alright, hope you enjoy this one too!!

Firstly, Yasha tried to remind herself that if Gustav didn’t want that chapter read to the campers for fear of nightmares, but Yasha found it rather tame, it didn’t mean that either of them were wrong.

 _Context is key_ was the mantra _._ In Xhorhas, scary stories were sometimes the only thing standing between children and wandering off into the wastes the minute parents turned their backs. Here in the Empire, they had fences and paperwork and rolling hills that were largely free from apex predators. Yasha didn’t doubt there were other dangers, but the life of Empire children probably required different monsters to the ones she had needed growing up.

Secondly, Yasha tried to remind herself that, for as sweet as she found Beau and the animated way she read, it couldn’t possibly compare to how insufferable Molly would be if Yasha allowed herself even an ounce of interest.

Not that Molly should have been the only thing stopping her. But if Yasha made him a barrier, she could look at Beau without an overwhelming wave of nausea. Because it wasn’t like Yasha had _a type_ , per say, but fuck if Beau didn’t remind her of-

No. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair on herself, and most of all it wasn’t fair on Beau. She was a stranger, if a very sweet and feisty one who clearly wanted to be friends, and she didn’t need the weight of Yasha’s angst and trauma.

Yasha tugged on the braid she’d chosen today to bear that shiny bronze bead. Over the past eight months, Yasha had gradually moved the braid she had threaded that bead on from the one at the very top of her head to the one just above her right ear. It wasn’t like she had to see it to know exactly where it was. But now she needed the comfort of touching it, because affairs of the heart made Yasha’s head and stomach hurt.

Her fiancé, her _mate_ , had been an inevitable future for the majority of her life. A singular focal point of disgust and terror. But the relationship was easy to grasp. It was pragmatic. It was an _arrangement_ , after all.

Yasha had been taught how to find love in that sterile despair, just as her mate would have been. At the very least how to find enough love for procreation, or how to fake it for the same end. No one had taught her what to do with the love that came easily, unrequested. No one had taught her where to put it, how to differentiate it, how to handle it without spilling it everywhere.

Yasha had turned Zuala into an all-consuming focal point because that was the only way she knew how to love. She suspected Zuala had done the same. That was what had made them so reckless, and desperate, and stupid. Pretty girls Yasha had met in the Empire- and thanks to Molly, she had met a few- had no chance of measuring up to that, but they also probably didn’t want to.

Finally, Yasha tried to remind herself that she wasn’t being unfaithful. She persistently shifted her guilt to where it was actually deserved: she was a coward, a runaway. Some crush, if it was even worth of being called that, was a drop of ink next to a stain the size of a village.

“Did you find other women attractive when you and Zuala were together?” the counsellor had asked her once.

“I never wanted to look at other women when I was with her,” Yasha said, which was the truth. But to be balanced, she added, “I know it was a young love, even if we had known each other for a long time. I know that might have changed. And I don’t think there would have been anything wrong with just looking, judging by your criterium.”

“My criterium?” The counsellor had raised an eyebrow.

“The part where you ask me if I would have judged Zuala for doing something.” The counsellor had smiled at that, and for once it wasn’t even infuriating. “If she was looking, just looking, there’s nothing to that. She was with me, and that’s what mattered.”

The counsellor sucked in a breath, which let Yasha know this was going to be a good one. “Have you thought about being _with_ someone again? Someone else?” He always made a point of echoing Yasha’s language back at her. “In the future, of course. I would advise you against it at this stage. I think everything’s too fresh.”

“No, I haven’t thought about it. _Culturally_ -” Yasha knew how to echo too, “-my people don’t remarry. There’s no reason.” Yasha sighed. “We weren’t entirely free of Empire media, especially being apart from the Dynasty, so I know that courtship here is… a lot. I probably wouldn’t know where to begin if I wanted to.”

“I suspect you already know this, but I will remind you anyway: _courtship_ is not a business arrangement. So it gets to be on your terms, and your partner’s, not some predetermined script.”

Yasha had resisted tugging at the braid with the bead. “The thing about scripts is that they’re easy to follow.”

The counsellor had smiled again. “The disadvantage of a culture that prefers love marriages, isn’t it?”

“I believe they just call them marriages here,” Yasha corrected, smiling back.

“My mistake,” he joked in return.

It took all day to get the speakers working properly. Jester was sticking strangely close to Beau, so Yasha took that as an excuse to clear her head by eating lunch alone. For the afternoon segment Beau had refused to read any further for fear it would “spoil” the story (whatever that meant), so instead she had chattered with Yasha and Jester or made strange noises into the microphone until Fjord was satisfied with the connection.

Then came messing around with Fjord’s laptop so that they could play music, which turned into its own ordeal. “Why do we even need music?” said Yasha, “When are we play songs for them?”

“Wake-up call,” said Beau.

“You couldn’t use a bell? Or shout?”

Beau laughed, although Yasha hadn’t really been joking. “Doing it over the speakers is much more fun, when it's working.” Beau unplugged and re-plugged the laptop for the fifteenth time, as per Fjord-via-Nott-via-Jester’s instructions. “Whoever’s in charge gets to add song clips as camp goes on. I still use some of the final week wake up calls from previous years as obnoxious custom phone alarms. Girls really dig it.” She laughed again when Yasha looked incredulous, which clearly meant Beau had actually been joking.

“I’m sure they do,” said Yasha. “Who’s in charge this year?”

“Given we’re using Fjord’s laptop, I’m going to guess he got conscripted.” Beau hit the spacebar, and scowled at the lack of result. “If you’ve got any good Xhorhasian music to recommend to him, I’m sure he’ll add it in for you.”

“We don’t have music in Xhorhas,” said Yasha. It was Beau’s turn to look incredulous, and Yasha’s to laugh.

“I don’t think it’s working,” Jester interrupted, pointing to the laptop.

Beau hit the spacebar again. “Good catch, detective,” she said.

Jester gave a short, serious nod and went back to whatever busywork Gustav had occupied her with in between texting. Beau slouched down in her chair and put the back of her hand to her nose and mouth to cover a grin. She looked to Yasha conspiratorially. _Cute right?_ she mouthed, after checking that Jester wasn’t looking.

“Yes,” Yasha murmured. Beau looked disproportionately pleased. If Yasha thought the way Beau acted around her was sweet, the way she looked at Jester was bordering on ditzy. It was reassuring, in a way. And it gave Yasha another reason to steer well clear besides her internal machinations.

Not that her decision to steer clear meant Molly would spontaneously develop the ability to leave well enough alone. “How was your day with the pretty girls?” he’d asked the second he sat down next to Yasha that night. Most of the staff had cleared out after the bonfire safety talk, but Yasha found something about staring into the flames comforting and had stayed on.

“How was your day with the pretty boys?” Yasha deflected, absentmindedly opening The Magician’s Judge with a sidekick combo.

“Number one: Nott was there too. Number two: I asked you first.”

“We had Gustav was with us,” countered Yasha.

Molly placed both hands under his chin. “Oh, do tell me the carnal and depraved thoughts you were having about Gustav, then.”

Yasha flicked The Magician’s Judge closed and looked him in the eye. “You’re a bastard, Mollymauk.”

“Oh no, Beau’s finally getting to you!” Molly laid his head on Yasha’s shoulder. “But did you hear how I listened to your second ‘soft no’ and changed the subject, Miss Yasha?”

Yasha patted him on the cheek, still looking out into the fire. “Yes, very good.”

They sat together for a while, just watching the flames ripple. “You seem less tired today,” Molly said eventually.

“Funny, given we got a bedtime story in the middle of the day.”

“It is funny,” said Molly.

“What did you think of it?” said Yasha, twisting her braid around her finger.

“The story?”

“Yes.”

“You heard much more of it than I did, my dear. Beginning, middle _and_ end, from the rumours that reached me.” Molly squeezed her bicep. “Gustav agrees that you seem to have an unusual effect on Miss Beau.”

“That tattle!” Yasha said, imitating Molly's go-to reaction when someone insensitively passed on sensitive information. “I forget that you have eyes everywhere,” she added.

“Is that a joke about my tattoos?” said Molly, placing his hand on his heart to indicate shock.

Yasha headbutted him gently. _An Iothian kiss_ , as Molly called it. “Yes.”

“I expected better from you, Yasha,” he chided. She patted his face again, and he laughed. “But speaking of Beau, what the hell is she doing?”

Yash shifted her gaze to the other side of the largely emptied amphitheatre, where Beau was working on a small branch with a pocketknife.

“Carpentry,” said Yasha.

“Yes, I’d gathered that much,” said Molly.

They watched as Beau nearly caught herself in the hand several times as the knife repeatedly slipped. “The blade is blunt,” said Yasha.

“Probably because she uses it on sticks.”

“Perhaps.” Yasha headbutted him again. Then she paused, and swallowed, and added, “Zuala used to do stupid shit like that.”

Yasha felt Molly stiffen a little next to her. Maybe that was her fault, because she had always made Zuala an unbroachable topic.

“Did she?” prompted Molly, unable to hide the fear nor the curiosity in his voice.

“Uh huh.” Yasha wrapped her arm around him, although she wasn’t sure if she was trying to comfort him or keep him from fleeing. “She was very smart, but sometimes I would stare at her and think _wow, it is a miracle that they were able to keep you from wandering off into the badlands as a child_.” Molly snorted as Beau placed a freshly nicked index finger in her mouth. “She was all the proof you need that not every child of the wastes is a born survivalist.”

There was a lapse into silence as Molly seemed to choose his next words with uncharacteristic care. “You’re not worried about being attracted to someone new at all, are you? Really, you’re worried it’s the same old junk recycled.”

“Something like that.” Yasha shifted a little. “There’s lots of differences, of course. Least of all, you know, _Empire_.”

“That is a big one. But you have to admit-” Yasha could hear the smirk in Molly’s voice, “-if you’re looking for an absolute moron to fill the wife-shaped hole in your heart, Beau would be very much fit for purpose.”

He undoubtedly meant that more as a slight on Beau than on Zuala, but Yasha still squeezed Molly into her side a little bit too tightly as she whispered, “Remember that I could crush you like a carton of eggs, Mollymauk.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, slightly short of breath. Yasha loosened her grip. Molly was lucky that his ability to say the most inflammatory thing possible was matched only by his ability to then charm his way out of the consequences.

“Good,” said Yasha, ruffling his hair until she felt the gel cracking.

Molly barely muffled his initial squeak of protest. “I get it! I get it! You can hurt me emotionally too!”

Yasha stopped. “Correct,” she said with a satisfied nod.

“Fucking shit!” Yasha released Molly as they both whipped their heads around to look at Beau. Everyone else left around the fire– maybe half a dozen people total– did the same.

A slash of red across Beau’s knee was proof that she was a danger to more than just her digits. She continued to let rip a string of profanities that would presumably gotten her fired if there had been any campers around, dabbing at the wound ineffectually with her fingertips.

Yasha was moving towards Beau before she had even decided that she wanted to. “Don’t just jam your fingers in it, dumbass!” Molly yelled from behind her.

“Fuck you, Molly!” Beau replied.

A young woman with long, black hair that fell over one side of her face intercepted Yasha a few steps from Beau. “I know that Jester Lavorre’s a first aid officer, and she only just left, so she’s probably still awake. Should I go find her?”

Yasha was unsure why she was giving her fellow staff orders, but she nodded. “Alright!” said the other leader, and then she took off up the darkened path towards the main campsite.

Yasha sat next to Beau and pushed her bloody hands away from the cut. It was actually just above Beau’s knee, and seemed fairly shallow now that Yasha could see it up close, so at least it would be easy to keep the edges together once it was dressed.

“We’re going to have to amputate, I think,” said Yasha.

Beau closed her discarded knife and shoved it into her pocket. “Nice try, but Jester used that one on me the other day, so I’m wise to it.”

“You get yourself hurt a lot, then?”

Beau wiped her fingers on her uninjured leg, leaving two line of red warpaint on inside of her calf. “It’s a special talent.”

Somehow, Yasha wasn’t surprised. “Does it hurt?”

“Smarts a bit.” Beau shrugged.

“Can you walk?”

Beau folded her arms and leaned back slightly, as if deciding whether or not to try her luck. “… no? You might have to carry me.”

“You’re very convincing,” said Yasha. Beau grinned, and part of Yasha was just happy that her sarcasm read to someone. And the other part of her… fuck it. Beau wanted to play? Fine, Yasha knew how to play.

“Left arm out straight,” said Yasha. Beau hesitated long enough to frown, but complied. Yasha ducked under, grabbing Beau’s outstretched wrist in one hand and wrapping around her uninjured knee with the other. Then it was a matter of a tilt and a hoist, and Beau was balanced across Yasha’s shoulders, injured leg swinging free.

“Oh shit, you’re really tall,” said Beau.

“You are surprisingly dense,” replied Yasha.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot.”

“Do you have the situation under control, Miss Yasha?” yelled Molly.

“I think so!” Yasha yelled back, “Assuming this one can behave for the length of the walk!”

Yasha couldn’t really see Beau, but she could see Molly reacting to Beau by breaking out into hysterical laughter to the point that he looked like he might hyperventilate. He did try to reply, but came up short, eventually waving Yasha on to leave him with the small handful of leaders and the flickering firelight.

Beau made herself a dead weight for the majority of the walk, which suited Yasha fine. That apparently had no relationship with her need to fill silence, though. “Do you do this a lot? You seem, uh, practiced.”

“Are you asking if I carry injured people though the woods a lot?”

“Yes.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“I did carry injured people a lot, though. I used to. In Xhorhas.”

“That’s cool.”

“It wasn’t.” _Context is key._

“Oh.” The word rang even more hollow from Beau the second time.

“This isn’t like that was," Yasha tried to assure her. "I think you will survive, assuming the amputation goes well.”

“We’re really going through with that?”

“Yes.”

Once they were inside, Yasha set Beau down on the stairs between the serving area and the rest of the hall. They didn’t have to wait long before Jester rushed in, cardigan pulled over her pyjamas.

“Beau! What happened? Cali said you were hurt.” Jester threw an accusatory look at Yasha, for some reason, as she knelt down to inspect Beau’s knee.

Jester’s panic made Beau immediately switch gears, slipping into macho mode as she waved Jester off. “My fault. I was sharpening a stick and my knife slipped.”

Jester frowned. “I hope your tetanus is up to date then.”

“My what?” Jester snapped her head up, and smacked Beau’s leg when she caught her grin. “Um, ow? Can you not take out my good leg as well please?”

“Jester, if you tell me where the first aid kits are, I can go get one for you,” offered Yasha, trying to avoid standing around useless.

Jester still looked annoyed. Maybe Cali had needed to wake her after all. “Why would I know where the first aid kits are?” she grumbled.

“Because you’re a first aid officer?” said Beau.

“I haven’t been on this camp before! I don’t know where they keep things!”

Beau rolled her eyes and addressed Yasha, indicating the far corner of the room. “There should be a kit on the wall opposite PAHQ.”

Yasha retrieved the kit easily enough. Jester took it from her wordlessly and began to riffle through it.

Beau leaned down so that her face was level with her roommate’s. “What do we say, Jester?”

Jester did not look away from her work, but her voice didn’t have the bite Yasha was expecting given her surly expression. “Thanks, Yasha.”

“And thanks for the lift,” added Beau with an exaggerated wink. The girl really thought she was funny.

Jester, however, seemed less moved by the comedy. “ _Ow!_ ” Beau complained, stamping her free foot a few times. “We’re just jumping right into the irrigation with no warning, are we?”

Yasha watched Jester give an apologetic grimace but no reply. That was apparently all Beau needed, though, because she allowed Jester to finish flushing the wound without further complaint. She obviously already trusted Jester. Good for them.

“Okay, I’m sure Jester can take care of you from here,” said Yasha, “so I’m going to go. I’ve already left Molly unsupervised for too long. Goodnight.”

And in a fitting conclusion to this confused, aching mess of a day, Yasha retreating from her problems like the coward she was, Molly as her excuse and her shield, twisting her braid around her finger until it threatened to snap.


	24. Summer Evening Breezes Blew, Drawing Voices Deep From You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Laura Palmer by Bastille
> 
> It's again, as the kids say.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Beau wasn’t sure exactly what set her off. All she knew was that was she had been fine when the adrenaline was coursing through her body immediately after the injury, and that she had been fine when Yasha was carrying her, and that she had been fine when Jester was reprimanding and fussing over her.

But that post-stress glow, which honestly left her a little sleepy, evaporated the second Fjord walked in. She felt her heart rate spike, and not in the good way. Which didn’t even make sense, because he wasn’t even angry, not even in the twitches, and she knew he was a good dude.

“Beau, I told you no hospital visits!” he said.

Beau was filled with a sudden desire to sock Fjord in the jaw, but she knew herself well enough to guess that this had more to do with whatever had just possessed her, rather than her actual feelings towards him.

“It’s not going to be a hospital visit,” said Jester, finishing wrapping Beau’s leg.

“Good,” said Fjord, “but there’s still going to be paperwork.”

The second Jester released her, Beau stood. The words came before she had even registered the thought behind them. “Please don’t tell Norda. I’ll do all the paperwork, I just-” Beau stopped herself before she went fully pathetic. “Please, Fjord,” she tried again, hoping she sounded emphatic and not desperate.

Beau’s thoughts were never linear, but she could normally sift through to find where they originated, if she concentrated hard enough. For a short moment, however, an antiquated thought that had no business being here began to rattle around inside her skull. Her own voice, begging. _Please. You don’t have to tell him. I’ve already fixed it. It will just make it worse._

Fjord looked about as confused by Beau’s distress as she was. “She’s your debrief group leader. It’s procedure to tell her, but it’s not a big deal.” He looked to Jester, probably hoping that she knew what was wrong. Jester twitched sadness and fear, _concern_ , but she couldn’t offer any help either. “I’m sure Norda would appreciate being relieved of the paperwork, of course,” Fjord added lightly.

“I didn’t even have to go offsite. Why do we need to tell her?” Now Beau could hear Dairon’s voice cutting through the static in her head. _The rules still apply to you, Beauregard!_ Beau gritted her teeth. “Do we really have to wake her? It’s not like she won’t see the bandage in the morning.”

Fjord shook his head. “I wasn’t proposing waking her. Trust me, I want to live through the night too.”

That should have calmed Beau, but it didn’t. This was a trick. She was being tricked. She couldn’t explain how she knew. It wasn’t in the twitches, or in his words, or in anything else she could point to or articulate. But the reversal was coming.

 _The bad luck. The curse. The punishment. The monkey’s paw. The price to pay._ Fjord could smell it on her, smell what she was, the same way that people could smell the mix of sulphur and jasmine for years after she left Kamordah. True, most people didn’t think about her like that, as a pawn in the game of fortunes, but sooner or later everyone figured out that something was off. Sooner or later, they would want her gone, whether or not they believed in luck.

She wanted to hit. She wanted to hit so badly. Lashing out would feel good, and it was the only way to fight against the luck. To take control, to make it her choice when her world crumbled around her.

She was holding back the impulse by only the thinnest thread when Fjord spoke up again. “Beau, I have no interest in fuelling Norda’s overzealous vendetta against you. I just want to follow procedure and, you know, have us actually covered by insurance when you decide to stab yourself properly.”

Fjord didn’t move, but Beau could feel a hand smoothing her hair, a ghost on her skin. _Sometimes knives bite. Doesn’t say anything about you, Bebe._

“I think this has been enough excitement for me for one night,” Beau told the two of them sardonically. “I’m going to go to bed.”

Jester trailed behind, so Beau couldn’t run like she desperately needed to without it looking like it was about Jester. If the exhaustion from a day wrangling the campers finally brought her silence, this was the fundamental opposite. Her brain was at its most free-word-association-esque, and all of the prompts sucked ass.

In the sea of the unique ways she could berate herself, one thought played on loop: her father's catch-cry. _WHAT DID YOU DO?_ She had an archive of versions to choose from. 

_It was an accident!_ Beau could remember how she whimpered when that failed to move him. Fuck, she really used to whimper, didn’t she? Pathetic. What had she expected that to earn her?

Jester grabbed Beau’s hand, startling her right out of her head. They were on the veranda. “Beau?”

“Yeah?”

Jester didn’t reply, just frowned. Actually frowned. It wasn’t reading in, Jester wanted her to know that she was frowning.

“I just didn’t want Norda on my shit, you know?” Beau explained, trying to sound nonchalant.

They both sat on their beds, facing each other. When Jester wouldn’t break eye contact, Beau did it for her and began trying to untie her shoes. She kept finding herself looking back up, though. _Predict. You have to predict. Keep the upper hand._

Jester opened and closed her mouth once before speaking. “Beau, you’re shaking.”

Fuck. She was. Too much to even work her laces. “No I’m not.”

“You are, though.”

“Then it's the adrenaline of losing a knife-fight with myself. Stop looking at me like that, I’m not fucking infirm. It was barely a scratch.”

Jester remained remarkably calm. Calmer than Beau would have expected, honestly, given the number of times she’d seen her tear up over the week. “Is there something I can do? What do you normally do when you get…” Jester used a loosely clawed hand to mime an exaggerated heartbeat.

 _Don’t be working yourself up now. Just tell me what you did this time._

Beau folded her arms, hiding her useless, shaking hands. “Are you saying that I’m getting myself worked up?”

“No, not worked up.” Jester sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what it’s about, I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do. Because you seemed fine until ten minutes ago.”

“I told you, I just don’t want Norda on my shit. Cutting myself was fucking dumb.”

“But it was an accident,” said Jester.

_What did you do this time, Beauregard?_

“And?” said Beau.

Jester looked perplexed. I must have been fucking nice, living in a world where something being accidental was enough of an excuse. For Beau, accidents were part of the problem, proof of the rot inside her. Enough accidents got you kicked out of school, or arrested, or fired, or sent away to-

Beau shut it down. Her brain, everything. She had wanted to avoid doing that, but it was the only way. Her thoughts were a capsizing ship that she had no hope of righting. If there was a furnace inside her, this was Beau starving it of oxygen.

Beau could see that Jester had registered the change. But lucky for Beau, now it didn’t bother her.

“I’m tired, Jester. I want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Jester said. She stripped herself of her cardigan and climbed under her covers, but she was still watching Beau.

There were always people watching her, waiting for her to slip up again.

Once, Beau had woken in A Fuss, and accordingly relegated herself to the cellar to desecrate the old staves. She had borrowed a pocketknife from a young farmhand about four months prior, knowing he would be too awkward to ask for it back.

The pocketknife had greatly improved the range of things she could build with the staves. She quickly mastered cutting in notches so that the staves could lock together, adding some much-needed structural integrity to her makeshift log cabins. Next came experiments carving her name into wood over and over. She made sure to write in all capital letters, both because it was easier, and because her tutor constantly told her off for doing just that on paper.

Beau’s favourite, though, was whittling little wooden people to play with. She loved all of her creations, even and especially the earliest few she had made, which naturally came out a bit lopsided. She kept the wooden people wrapped inside an old towel she had found in the bad linen cupboard, one that wouldn't be missed. She then hid the towel full of friends in a little alcove in the cellar that only she was small enough to crawl into. Apart from the knife, they were her most prized possessions, and she wouldn’t have risked keeping them somewhere as exposed as her bedroom.

Beau was in the middle of carving another wooden person when the main lights came on in the cellar. Beau jerked in surprise, and blade met the flesh of her thumb for the first time in her life. Beau let out a startled cry, not only from the pain, but at the shock of her new toy turning against her.

The response was as distressed as it was instantaneous. “Beauregard?” she heard her mother’s voice call from the stairway.

Of the adults on the property, her mother was probably one of the better ones to have discovered her down here. But Beau had been stupid enough to bring her bundle of wooden people out of the alcove to reference when carving, and now they were all in danger. Her mother couldn’t keep a secret from Daddy to save herself, and Beau couldn’t bear if he found out about her treasures.

Beau used one hand to quickly collect her toys in their towel. She clutched her other, injured hand under her chin. She bundle in tow, she scuttled through the rows of barrels and wine racks and various pieces of winemaking equipment that made a lot more sense as numbers in the books than they did in person.

“Bebe, where are you?” she heard her mother call again.

Beau ducked into her alcove, heart racing and thumb sore. As quietly as she could with one hand and under duress, placed her the wooden people on their proper ledge, which was impossible to access unless you could get into the crawl-space.

Then Beau slipped back out, brushed off her skirt, and weaved her way though the cellar décor to her staves workshops.

“Bebe?” The click of her mother’s footsteps picked up speed. “Beauregard! I am not messing around!”

Her stealth mission accomplished, Beau was suddenly hit by the reality of everything else happening around her. Her mother was upset with her now. Beau herself was in A Fuss, which was why she had been in the cellar in the first place and why the lights hurt her eyes so badly. And her thumb hurt now too, thanks to the stupid, traitorous knife.

Beau definitely wasn’t crying now, even if she was in pain, because she wasn’t a baby. But maybe she had been sniffing a bit, because her mother clearly heard her.

The footsteps stopped, and her mother’s voice regained its original softness. “Bebe? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Over here.” Beau called out, and her mother started moving again, beelining towards her. Beau wasn’t sure how she was able to do it with how much the cavernous chamber echoed, but it didn’t take long at all until her mother rounded the corner to face her.

“Beauregard, your father and I have been worried _sick_. We have been looking everywhere for you!” That seemed strange to Beau, because she didn’t really mix up her hiding spots that often. Her mother seemed genuinely upset though, so maybe they had forgotten about the cellar and truly thought that Beau was lost.

“Sorry,” said Beau quietly. She scrunched up her face at the way it echoed. Her head was already sore from the lights, she didn’t need the bouncing sound too. Hiding the wooden people had been a distraction, but now it was like being rubbed with sandpaper.

With her face scrunched, Beau didn’t see her mother approach, but she felt fingertips brushing her fringe. “Oh, I see. We’re having A Fuss today, are we?”

Beau shook her head. It was important to deny it, even when it was indisputable. If she admitted it up front, then she would simply be told to pull herself together.

“Hmm, I think we are,” her mother mercifully countered. “Is that why you were down here in the dark?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you been here all day?”

“Maybe.”

“Beauregard.” Her mother touched under her chin. “My beautiful Beau. We’ve talked about sneaking away, haven’t we?”

Beau opened her eyes, for a moment more indignant than sensitive. “I didn’t sneak!” she insisted, which was the truth. Beau had just done what she always did: walk right out the back door, over to the shed, and then down into the industrial cellar. It wasn’t her fault that they had missed it.

“Haven’t we?” her mother repeated.

Beau didn’t even know why she bothered. There was no winning fights like this. “Yes.”

Another swipe of the fringe. “And does that rule change just because we’re in A Fuss?”

“No.”

“So, do you have something to say?”

“I’m sorry for sneaking off. I’m sorry for scaring you and Daddy. I’m sorry for making A Fuss.” Beau was mumbling into her chest, which wouldn’t have done for Daddy, but her mother tended not to mind as long as she said the right things.

Beau was not a baby, so this certainly wasn’t making her cry either, but she did pull her jacket over her head to block out some of the light once she was done apologising.

Beau heard her mother take her phone out of her pocket and fiddle around for a bit, before the lights in the room dimmed again. “Is that better, Bebe?” she said quietly, so there was no echo.

It was, but the light was already inside her brain, and so were the noises, and once that happened there was no escape from the throbbing. Beau couldn’t help but have an awful, hateful moment where she wondered why, if her mother knew how to keep the lights off and speak quietly, she didn’t just _do that_.

“My poor little bear and her sore little head.” Sure enough, Beau realised she was making her ‘bear noises’, the little growls in the back of her throat that somehow eased the pressure in her brain. There were two types of pressure: the one that was always there a little, and then the big one that came in when she was having A Fuss. The big pressure needed dark and quiet, but the little pressure needed running, and climbing, and shouting, and making funny noises, and rubbing her face on the nice velvet couches, and chewing her shirt collars, and stealing heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar from the pantry.

And the unspoken secret everyone knew, including Beau, was that the big pressure only came when the little pressure was neglected too long. Her mother even seemed to acknowledge this now. “You’ve been so good for the past couple of weeks, Bebe, even stuck inside with the rain.”

Beau _had_ been good, and it had been unbearable. But she was trying, really trying. She had even managed to sit still at the diner table three nights in a row. She had sat through Daddy’s witch story at least five times without backchatting. She had kept herself presentable, and quiet, and safe, and all she ever got for her effort was platitudes from her mother and the stabbing pain behind her eyes.

“Why are you holding your hand like that?” Beau's mother brushed her fist curiously.

“Cut myself on the knife,” said Beau, before she had a chance to think better of it.

“Dear me. Let’s have a look.” Beau’s mother pried her hand open so that she could inspect the injured thumb. “Oh, just a little scratch. A little love bite.”

Beau looked down to see that she was right. “But it hurts!”

Beau’s mother petted her hair now, drawing a line from her forehead to the sore spot on her neck. “I’m sure it does. Lots of nerves in the fingers, and shallow wounds hurt more. Did you know that?”

“No. Why?” Her mother was always good for explanations, and this one was practically invited, so she wasn’t likely to get in trouble for talking back.

“Because deep wounds damage the nerves too much for your body to know it’s in pain. A shallow wound leaves the nerves working perfectly well to transmit the signals.”

“That’s interesting.” Beau wiped her face on her shirt.

“I thought so.” Her mother apparently couldn’t resist reaching over and tucking Beau’s dress down between her thighs as she said this.

Beau squirmed in protest. “I’m wearing shorts.” She had started wearing shorts under her dresses for that exact reason, in fact: so that she could sit however she liked without being bothered.

“Sorry, force of habit.” Her mother’s eyebrows were creased seriously. “Beauregard, we wanted to talk to you about something.”

So they hadn’t been worried that she was missing. They had wanted to talk to her. “Okay.”

“School is nearly done for the year, and I was- Daddy and I were thinking this might be a good year for you to go on your first sleep-away camp over the summer.”

Beau blinked. “All summer? Like the movies?”

“All summer,” her mother confirmed.

“I could miss the start of harvest.”

Her mother tilted her head noncommittally. “But you probably won’t. And waiting for the harvest, especially with no schoolwork to do, is really boring, isn’t it?”

Beau folded in on herself. “I guess.”

“I thought it might be, because we have lots of bad days over the summer normally, don’t we?”

Her mother tickled under her chin, and Beau shook her off as her heart rate skyrocketed. “I can be good, I promise! I don’t have to go away.”

“Oh, Bebe, that’s not it at all.” Her mother looked sad, which she hated. “This would be something fun for you.” Her mother drew another line, forehead to sore spot, and kissed her.

Beau rolled over so that she could rub her cheek on her pillow, trying to erase the ghost of a kiss that still lay there.

“Can’t sleep?” asked Jester from the darkness.

“You’re one to judge,” Beau retorted.

There was a long silence. Then: “Norda can’t fire you, you know.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Well, she would be stupid to. You said yourself that they’ll take basically anyone for staff, which means they’ve desperate as it is. And Fjord was telling me that Norda complains all the time that you’re the only leader the twelve-thirteens listen to.”

Beau gave a bitter chuckle. “As long as I’m useful to her, then.”

The bed complained as Jester shifted. “Whatever it was, it happened when you were twelve, right?”

Beau made a bear noise short enough that it sounded like a pained sigh. “It really started long before then, but also around then, I guess. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now.” Beau rubbed her cheek on the pillow again, because she could. Who was going to stop her? “Hey, Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“My leg feels a lot better, so thank you for helping with that.”

“No problem.” Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but she was pretty sure from Jester’s tone that she understood what Beau had really meant.


	25. I Wanna Hold Hands With You, But That's All I Wanna Do Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan
> 
> Right off the bat, and I know I've already been telling many of y'all in my replies to your (super sweet!!) comments, but I wanted to say up here as well that I'm so glad that y'all are connecting with and/or enjoying how I'm trying to work in some of my interpretations re: neurodiversity, and thank you for said lovely comments!  
> Obviously, I'm writing those elements a) largely based on my own experiences/experiences of people close to me and b) still with the narrative utility in mind, so I know I'm not going to always get things 100% technically right and/or talk about things in a way that applies to all people. That said, I'm always excited when something I write exclusively to serve my personal bias/taste/catharsis ends up being enjoyable for others as well, so thank you once again for your kind words and support <3
> 
> Anyway, in typical fashion, I wrote this chapter while procrastinating on my pre-readings for uni. Updates will probably space out again while semester is back on*, but hopefully we're at a point where there's a decent amount in this fic for y'all to reread** if you're missing me too much ;-)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *subject to change without notice or justification  
> **this is why no one should let me write long form mediums, because then I dick around establishing character for 70,000+ words before Plot begins happening

Perhaps Beau was a bad influence after all, infecting Jester with a touch of her irritability. Either that, or Jester spent too many nights of her adolescence falling asleep with a pulp novel resting spine up on her chest. She certainly felt like one of heroines from the novels. In the back half, during the final fall-apart, where she would stand windswept and scorned as she yelled self-righteously at her hero below.

Granted, Jester was less windswept and more pyjama-clad, less scorned and more annoyed. But she was definitely self-righteous, and Beau and Yasha were definitely below her as she yelled.

“Yasha!”

Yasha turned away from whatever conversation she was having with Beau as they walked up the hill. “Yes?” Yasha tilted her chin up as she yelled.

Jester leaned against the railing. “Were you letting Beau run on an injured leg?” The answer to the question was obvious, of course, but that wasn’t the point of the demonstration.

As expected, Beau immediately went on the offensive, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “It’s my leg! Why is Yasha getting told off?”

Yasha paused in realisation before affirming Beau’s sentiment. “Yeah! Why are you yelling at me?”

Jester stood back, still gripping the rail, and smirked. “Beau cares more about getting other people in trouble than getting in trouble herself!” That was the motive Jester was willing to admit out loud, anyway.

Beau flushed, which hadn’t been Jester’s intended reaction, but she supposed she understood it. “What I really hate is my roommate yelling her psychoanalysis of me across the campsite!”

“Nobody can hear me!” Jester objected. “You’re late and they’ve all gone to breakfast!”

Perhaps the Traveler was fucking with her now, because at that exact moment Caleb appeared on the stairs of his veranda. “Ladies! Beau! Why are we screaming?” he called out.

“Because Jester is very far away!” replied Yasha.

Beau, however, was already ticked off and so apparently wasn’t going to let the opening to Caleb’s question pass. “Hey! Remember that from tomorrow I’m the only thing standing between you and twelve young adolescents who will destroy both your self-esteem and your kneecaps!”

Caleb opened his mouth to reply but balked at Beau’s expression. With that problem seemingly satisfactorily dealt with, Beau turned her attention back to Jester and began storming up the hill towards her.

Meanwhile, Fjord had appeared on the stairs next to Caleb. “What’s happening?”

“We’re yelling!” said Yasha.

“I had figured that much out for myself, thank you Yasha!”

By this point Beau, who even with a dressing on her leg moved very quickly, had made her way up so that she was standing directly below Jester. With the slope of the hill, the raised veranda, and the height difference between them, Beau’s eyes were level with Jester’s clavicle.

“Morning, Beau,” said Jester down to her.

Beau placed a hand either side of Jester’s on the railing and hoisted herself up. She balanced on her toes, heels hovering over the empty air at the end of the veranda. This left her taller than Jester once more, if that had been the desired effect.

Jester let go of the railing and stepped back. Beau leaned in to fill the space, stomach against the railing. “If you’re mad at me, yell at me. Don’t yell at Yasha.” Beau threw one leg over the rail and began to climb over to the correct side. “I didn’t bring it up when you were doing it last night, because you were in the middle of poking about in an open wound on my body, but seriously, don’t. I don’t take that shit well.”

It was strange, after seeing Beau’s funny turn last night, seeing her back with her usual spitfire demeanour like nothing had happened. “Okay,” said Jester because she didn’t know what else Beau could be looking for.

Beau leaned back against the railing, and with her point made, she relaxed a bit. “So, someone’s mad that I wasn’t there when she woke up, huh?” Jester froze, unable to form a coherent response. Even the incomplete truth, that waking up alone was pretty jarring when Jester was used to immediately having at least one loved one in her direct line of sight, was a pretty undignified excuse.

It also implied that Beau was suddenly now a _loved one_ , which wasn’t true. If watching her mother’s suitors had taught Jester anything, it was that bonified love– be it romantic or platonic– could move completely independently of thinking a woman was so pretty that it made you stupid. Beau didn’t know Jester from a pile of rocks, and while that didn’t make how much Jester had liked waking up to her the last few days illegitimate, it did make it different.

Jester was aware that she had a lot more theoretical the practical knowledge when it came to romance. She had seen and heard some things at home, of course. However, her real source was her books. Jester had devoured every romance novel that came within her grasp, and could probably still provide analysis of any one of them if given the chance.

The way Mama described her dad had always seemed like the start of a romance novel. Jester’s first dream was to help them finish their story, to bring them back together after the final fall-apart. Her second dream was to similarly make novel of her own life.

Reality, of course, resisted the orderly structure of her books wherever possible.

Jester had recognised the feeling she’d had looking at Fjord for the first time, because she had felt something similar for someone else. Fjord was very nice to look at. And that was distracting, sure, but she could still talk to him most of the time. If Jester did something that made him think she was dumb or naïve, it would have been a bit more embarrassing than with some other person, but not fatal.

Beau was another matter. Jester was starting to think that her feelings for Beau might fall into the same class as Fjord and the like, but they were too tangled up in thinking Beau was cool to be completely sure. Even though Jester was closer in age to Beau than Fjord, she had this irrational but gut churning certainty that Beau thought of her as just some stupid kid, amusing and ineffectual.

The more Jester dwelled on it, the more convinced she was. There was the saga with the bedsheets, the making plates, even the way Beau had been greeting her in the mornings now had a funny aftertaste. And shit, the only people Jester had seen holding hands since being in the Empire were parents and children. To hell with the blanket intimacy it indicated in Nicodranas, Jester should have considered what sort of message she might have been sending before she brought that to the table.

No wonder Beau was taking to Yasha now. Beau probably needed to decompress and spend time with someone less needy, someone who had their shit together. Yasha had something to offer Beau. What did Jester bring to the table that Yasha couldn’t?

Jester had seen jealousy destroy numerous men, the ones who wanted her mother for themselves alone. Jester didn’t want to be like that, but she hadn’t even known she could feel that way until yesterday. Apparently she had a hidden natural aptitude, though, because whatever was boiling in her bloodstream when she watched Beau read to Yasha, or show Yasha how the computer worked (or, for most of that afternoon, how it didn’t), was potent.

Jester couldn’t even articulate what feeling she had looking at the two of them beyond _want_. Want what? Damn if she knew. And that was frustrating. If she was going to get swallowed by that ugly feeling, why didn’t it at least have the decency to tell her what exactly it was that she wanted so badly? The assholes looking to possess her mother always seemed so sure of themselves and what they wanted: for Mama to give up her other lovers, to let him move in, sometimes even to marry him. How did they translate this weight in their guts into a genuine list of demands?

Equally, Jester wasn’t sure what she was trying to get out of antagonising Yasha. Retribution? Yasha has set this feeling off, sure, but it wasn’t exactly Yasha’s fault that Jester felt like this. To drive Yasha away? Jester got on fine with Yasha before, and Jester wasn’t sure she wanted to be that kind of asshole anyway, even deep down inside. To drive _Beau_ away? Maybe, if that was what Beau wanted.

Yes, maybe that was it. Everything between Beau and Yasha seemed so easy. They looked and acted like real human people. And Jester was… she didn’t know what, but something else.

“Exandria to Jess, come in Jess,” said Beau, snapping her fingers. “Don’t look like that, I was kidding.”

“I know,” said Jester, because she did. Of course Beau could make light of how desperately Jester craved her affirmation, even from the first second she woke up. That was the problem.

Hands behind her back, Jester picked at her cuticles. “I’m sorry I yelled at Yasha.”

“Not my problem,” said Beau.

“Well it is, because you just said it bothered you.”

“I didn’t say that.” Beau folded her arms.

Jester wasn’t sure what other possible interpretations there was of _I don’t take that shit well_ , but she moved on. “And you’re right, if I think you’re doing something dumb, I should tell you directly. So I’m sorry.”

“Jester, I fucking hate this,” said Beau, barely letting Jester finish her sentence. She did, in fact, seem pretty uncomfortable with the apologies. “It doesn’t matter, can we just move on so that I can shower and have breakfast?”

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

Beau tilted her head noncommittally. “I’ve already held up Yasha, I wouldn’t want to make you wait and then rush as well. Especially given you seem to like to take your time.”

Jester was disappointed, but in a moment of genius realised she had an opportunity. “I still have to get dressed, so maybe if I make plates for you and Yasha the timing will work out okay.”

Beau blinked, whatever that meant. “Yeah, sounds great,” she then said coolly. “So I normally have-”

“I know what you guys get,” said Jester. Then, in case she had been too harsh, “Unless you wanted something different today?”

Beau’s eyes started to do the shine, which was as startling as it was incomprehensible. “No, the usual will be fine for me, and Yasha can deal.” Beau threw her towel over her shoulder. “Alright. See you up there, then.”

It took Jester two trips to get breakfast, because she couldn’t carry plates like Beau. No one commented except Molly. “Pretty girl has you doing her job for her now?” he said in Infernal.

“I wanted to do it,” said Jester.

“I wasn’t debating that,” said Molly, and then he let the issue drop.

Beau and Yasha arrived not long later, looking slightly harried. Beau flipped Molly the bird as she sat down.

“I didn’t even get a chance to say anything,” he protested lightly.

“Didn’t need to. I could see the look in your eyes.”

“How is our wounded warrior this morning?” said Fjord.

Caleb looked up groggily from his meal. Apparently getting yelled at by Beau had only given him a short burst of alertness. “What happened to Beau?”

“Sliced her leg open like dumbass,” said Fjord. Nott sniggered a little.

Beau groaned and finished her mouthful, before complaining, “Gods, not you too. I’ve already had the third degree from Jester this morning about running, and it didn’t even need butterfly plasters or anything.”

“She’s a first aid officer,” said Fjord. “That’s her job. Besides, is it really going to dent your conditioning that badly if you took a day off to at least let the scab take hold?”

“It’s not about my conditioning,” Beau said, shaking her head emphatically. “If you think I’m insufferable now, you do not want to see me undiluted from a morning run.”

Molly leaned his full body across the table. He probably would have put his hand on top of Beau’s if she hadn’t whipped it away. “Miss Beau,” he said with mock affection, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that there is nothing you could do to make us find you more insufferable.”

“You do not,” said Caleb, “I’m sure she could be much worse if she tried.”

“You seem okay to me before we run,” added Yasha directly to Beau.

Beau rolled her eyes. “Damned with faint praise from all of you.”

“Have you shown Norda yet?” said Fjord. Jester held her breath, given that talking about Norda seemed to have been what sent Beau into a spin last night.

Jester needn’t have worried though. Beau craned her head around, quickly spotting Norda a few tables over. “Hey, Norda!”

Norda looked up towards her and quirked an eyebrow by way of acknowledgement.

Beau stood up from her seat and struck somewhat of pose, showing off her bandage. “I regret to inform you that I have broken the seal and injured myself.” The she stood back into a more neutral stance to add, “I’ll do the paperwork and get it to you to sign.”

“By debrief tonight, if you please,” Norda called back, and then she returned to eating.

Beau sat back down. “Done,” she said.

Fjord shot Jester a look that probably meant _makes you wonder what all the fuss was about_. Which it did. It did make Jester wonder.

Fjord took Beau’s cue to move on, though. “We’re voting on tonight’s movie, if any of you wanted to have your say and haven’t already.” Fjord pointed to a piece of butcher’s paper on the wall that seemed to be a crude tally sheet. “If setting up the screen takes as long as the PA system did yesterday, I will probably go throw myself into the lake.”

“Would you like help again?” asked Yasha.

“Maybe, but unfortunately you nerds have to sit through all the activity seminars today.” Fjord counted out on his fingers, “Canoeing, rock climbing, low ropes, high ropes, basically anything where you’re going to want to know what safety equipment to wrangle the campers into or else the actual instructor will be tearing their hair out.”

“Ah shit, I’d forgotten about that,” grumbled Beau. “Pretty much the worst part of camp.”

Beau apparently wasn’t able to summon any additional enthusiasm over the remainder of breakfast or in the time it took them all to get ready for the day. As Jester dragged her chair over to the cluster of leaders already facing the stage, she found Beau was rocking onto the back to legs of her chair while hitting her knuckles against the palm of her hand.

“Careful, you’ll break your neck,” warned Molly, who was also making his way through with his chair. Beau flipped him off without looking up. Then she slammed the front legs down, turned her neck and made eye contact, and rocked back once more until Jester now also feared for her roommate’s safety.

Beau tilted her head back to look at Jester upside-down. “So do you plan to stand for all the talks or are you going to sit with me?”

Jester shrugged, and planted her seat on Beau’s left. Beau slammed her seat down again, drawing an objection from Bryce. She was still hitting her knuckles against her hand, swapping them every so often. Beau didn’t try to make conversation with Jester or anyone else. She just let her eyes roam, smacking knuckle against palm, occasionally giving a fraction of a smile when she made eye contact with anyone in the Tuesday group except Molly.

Then Bryce mounted the stage and introduced the first speaker, an older man who was reportedly in charge of canoeing. Beau fell still so suddenly that it was frightening. She was rigid, motionless apart from the fingers of her right hand, which were drumming out rapid and random patterns on her thigh. Beau was looking at the instructor in the sense that both her face and her eyes were pointed in that direction, but there was something off about it. Jester wasn’t exactly expecting the proceedings to inspire that butterfly-inducing shine in Beau’s eyes, but neither had she anticipated whatever this was. Best Jester could describe it was a reverse Orpheus situation, where Beau anticipated the retaliation of Hades if she looked away even once.

Jester didn’t remember Beau being like this in any of the other whole-staff meetings, but she managed to ignore the strange body language for the whole of the first talk. Maybe, Jester rationalised, she was just freaked out by the directness of Beau’s gaze. Jester had always felt like she could either look directly at a person or hear what they were saying, never both.

Beau’s gaze dropped temporarily while they traded out speakers, but then she was right back in position. They had been at it for just shy of an hour at this point, and Jester could see the rest of the leaders shifting position occasionally. This wasn’t exactly thrilling, necessary as it was to know what to do when a boat capsized or a camper got stuck on the climbing wall.

Jester was starting to get bored too. And that, combined with her continuing discomfort with whatever the hell Beau was doing, filled her with a brief thirst for mischief.

About ten minutes into the second speaker, Jester reached and lightly tapped pinky, ring, middle, index finger on Beau’s knee before withdrawing. Beau remained seemingly unaware, apart from a brief lapse in her own tapping.

Jester tried again. This time Beau looked down to where the intruding hand would have been, were she a second quicker. Beau gave tiny exhale, but after a few seconds went back to her rigid attention.

Jester only got to her middle finger on her third attempt before Beau grabbed her wrist. Beau gave Jester warning glance, and then let go. Jester immediately tapped the final finger on Beau’s knee.

“Pay attention,” Beau warned, her face remaining neutral and her volume only a hair above inaudible.

Jester raised her pinky finger and Beau’s eyes flared, even though she could probably only see Jester in her peripheral at best. “ _Jester_ ,” she said at the same volume but in a harsher tone. Beau then slid her hand under Jester’s to protect her knee from the tapping.

“I am,” said Jester, and then she rested her hand on top of Beau’s.

Beau took a breath like she was about to say something more, but the objection never came. Jester maintained the position, passively taking in the feeling of Beau’s hand under hers. This wasn’t holding hands, so it was fine, right?

Fine or not, two of them spent the rest of the talks this way. From that point on, Beau’s gaze roamed a little more, as she would occasionally glance down to their hands and then back up to the speaker. She continued to drum, but as time passed her body grew less rigid. And for as much as Jester appreciated getting to see the sharpest possible cut of Beau’s jaw, she was pleased when Beau finally unclenched that too.

“You take the talks very seriously,” said Jester afterwards.

“I take my job seriously.” Beau returned a scowled for Jester’s smile. “What’s that face for?”

“I take my job seriously,” Jester imitated.

Beau rolled her eyes and shoulder-checked Jester. “Glad to hear it.” They had only taken a few steps when Beau offered Jester her hand, but Jester kept walking, pretending not to see.


	26. Sleep And I Shall Soothe You, Calm You, And Anoint You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Everything's Alright from Jesus Christ Superstar
> 
> Tonight's mood is "am I touch starved from lock-down or being a lesbian" feat. a chapter that is even more poorly proofread than usual, my apologies to the early readers (as always, I will reread the chapter a bunch of times in the next 24 hrs like Narcissus staring into the pond and corrections will be made accordingly).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jester had absolutely seen Beau offer her hand. Beau’s shitty superpower had a range of applications, but that sort of thing was the intended use case. It provided precision course corrections, gave her the data about which parts of herself to smooth down if she was going to get what she wanted. Or, you know, a general direction to throw the match in if she ever wanted to burn things to the ground.

Jester was mad at her because of the running, that was a given. The yelling that morning was a lot more visceral, but it was also a lot more visible. Beau could ask her to stop without seeming crazy. And without feeling crazy. Jester was the one making a social faux pas, even if witnesses felt she had been justified.

But this felt greedy, in a way. The pressure of Jester’s hand on hers for two and half hours, how was that not enough? How was her skin still hungry? How the fuck could she pretend holding hands for a two-minute walk going to make a difference when she couldn’t even see the bottom of that pit of need?

It wasn’t like Jester’s reaction was a sign of repulsion. She had taken the shoulder-check without any reaction of note. When she had seen the offered hand, she thrown a fear partial ( _a fear partial?_ ) and looked away. Beau knew what she saw, and it twitched around the eyes in a way that disgust and contempt simply didn’t. She knew what she saw. She knew what she saw.

It wasn’t repulsion, but it was rejection.

Whatever.

Beau’s head hurt. It always did after sitting still for so long. This one would pass quickly, probably, although last night wasn’t going to do her any favours.

That throbbing pain was the real enemy here, the root of her problems, not Jester. As much as it made no fucking sense, the pain made Beau want to bury her head again a person’s chest even more than it made her want to bash it against a tree. Really, what purpose could your brain screaming for human contact when you were already compromised possibly serve? At best, it just added a distraction in the process of fixing the problem, and at worst it dragged whoever you clung onto down with you.

So, Beau told herself to hold on. Tuesday night she could go into town. She could get drunk. There would be some girl who didn’t know her well enough to see that she was all bullshit, and they could find a room. Kiss, have sex, it didn’t matter. That pit inside Beau would finally have a meal, even if the relief was fleeting.

“Are you okay?” said Jester.

“Headache,” said Beau.

“Not surprised.” Beau tilted her head in question, as much as she could. “Serious Beau carries a lot of muscle tension.” Jester waved her hand vaguely over Beau’s neck and shoulders.

Beau shrugged, confirming the accused stiffness. “It’s not that bad.”

“If you say so.”

Beau had her paperwork to do, but she couldn’t concentrate. Pushing only made the throbbing her head worse. At least Jester was quiet, and the low light of the afternoon wasn’t too oppressive. Still, Beau could hear herself making either bear noises or groans of frustration- even she wasn’t sure which.

“Close work probably won’t help the headache,” said Jester, without looking up from her art book.

“Well, it’s got to get done,” said Beau.

“You’re not getting it done. You’ve been on the same page for an hour.” Jester was right of course. Well, Beau couldn’t speak to the timeframe (that was fuzzy), but she definitely hadn’t gotten much further than a page in. “Maybe you should take a nap and see if you feel better,” Jester suggested.

_You’re not going to be able to reason with her, Clara. You might as well send her to bed._

“I’m good,” said Beau.

“Okay,” said Jester. “I’m just saying, you’re always in a better mood after you sleep.”

“Everyone is in a better mood after they sleep.”

Jester laughed. “You’ve seen me in the mornings, right?”

“Apart from that one day that you were Out Of Sorts, you’ve been disturbingly chipper.” Beau inhaled and looked away before quietly adding, “And excluding this morning, I guess.”

“So three out of five days, then?” Jester apparently had good hearing.

Beau folded her arms. “Sure, if you want to bring math into it.”

“I probably shouldn’t, it will make your head hurt more.”

Beau paused far too long for what a trivial piece of information it was. “I actually don’t mind math. Pretty good at it.”

“Well, there’s no cure for that, unfortunately.” There was a long pause on Jester’s part now. “I could read to you.” Jester sat up quickly. “I mean, I could read the questions to you from the incident report, and you can tell me what to put. That way you don’t have to look at it.”

Beau’s instinct was to object, but admittedly Jester’s solution was probably more efficient that Beau’s current brute force efforts. Beau collected up the papers and passed them over.

Jester set herself up, and Beau lay down on her side, facing Jester. Doing so briefly exacerbated the throbbing, but then it calmed again.

Jester looked her over. Fear. Sadness. _Concern_. No, more fear than sadness. _Worry_. Even though she was pissed, Jester was worried about her. Beau wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Is lying on your side comfortable?” Jester said. It was obvious what she thought the answer was.

In truth, she was right, it wasn’t comfortable. But Beau needed to be able to read Jester, if not the form.

“I promise I won’t disappear if you look away,” said Jester. It wasn’t a precise understanding of Beau’s anxiety, but admittedly it was in the general vicinity.

Beau was about to fob Jester off when her shoulder started to spasm, voicing its displeasure over even a short stint in this position. Beau flopped begrudgingly onto her back. She immediately wondered if Jester looked smug.

“You can close your eyes if you want,” said Jester. She sounded smug, at least.

“You’re just trying to trick me into sleeping.”

“Is it working?” said Jester.

Beau said nothing, but opted to reward Jester’s honesty by closing her eyes. Of course, this brought immediate relief; no light was better than low light.

Jester asked her a question from the form, and Beau gave what she hoped was a coherent reply. Then there was the sound of pen scratching on paper. A pause.

“You still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” And then there was more pen on paper.

As far a Beau was aware, she didn’t answer any more questions after that.

Beau didn’t dream often, or very clearly. It was all vague and fluid, images and scenarios bleeding into each other. It was mostly memory, Beau was pretty sure. Or fabricated memories.

If it was going to be a pleasant sleep, like this one was, it always started the same way: her head in Tori’s lap. She was facing away from Tori, and neither of them moved or spoke. All she could see was the Rainbow Vineyards by dying daylight, but Beau knew her, knew that it had to be her, and Beau was content.

Things eventually shifted. Her cheek was still in contact with fabric, but now so was the rest of her. A softer fabric too. Flannelette. She could feel it under her clenched fists as she stretched. Her neck wouldn’t obey her desire to lift it, and somewhere in the hazy logic of the dream that made sense, even though her neck was loose now when it should have been stiff.

And then she was being lifted, and it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. A palm spanning the length of her back and three fingers that could take the weight of her head, that was all the support she needed to reach her destination safely. Her cheek was against a shoulder much larger than hers, her nose tickled by curls much looser than hers, and she listened to a voice far more articulate than whatever noises she could have managed. “Daddy’s just being silly, isn’t he, Bebe? Look at you, you’re fine. You’re safe. You’re perfect.”

Another shift. Beau was upright still, but now her limbs were tight. Extremely tight. Hair was braided back in tight rows too. Someone’s fingers moved along her neck, searching for something in the tightness. It wasn’t the kind of tight that hurt, it was the kind of tight that would translate into a solid blow if Dairon sent her back onto the floor.

“Head down.” Beau put her chin to her chest, and the fingers continued probing, searching for injury. Dairon was strict, and bossy, but she would never do her wrong.

Dairon’s anxious fingers left her neck, replaced by Dairon’s breath on her ear. “That girl is a brute, and she is uncontrolled. Your neck is fine, but there’s no shame if you’re done for the day.” Beau felt the warm relief in her tight limbs, knowing she didn’t need to do anything more than take Dairon’s hand to be understood.

Beau looked down, and her hand was in Jester’s. That was a new twist.

They were walking down the gravel path alongside the cabins, Jester beaming as she spoke words that Beau couldn’t quite process. Beau was looking at the freckles on Jester’s nose because that was as close as she could get to eye contact.

“Beau?” said Jester. But it wasn’t the Jester she was speaking to.

Beau opened one eye. Jester was leaning over her. “Uh huh?”

“Dinner time.”

Beau sat up quickly, her body protesting. “Shit, we didn’t finish the report, did we?”

“Relax. Yasha was there when you cut yourself, so she helped me out with the rest of it,” said Jester. She was trying not to look pleased with herself, but she was.

“Glad to hear you two are getting along now,” said Beau.

Jester poked her tongue out. Beau poked her tongue out. Jester handed her the stack of papers. Beau could have kissed her.

Shit, Beau wanted to kiss her.

“You know that you talk in your sleep, right?”

Beau blinked, trying to stop herself from frowning. That couldn’t be right. She was sure someone would have mentioned that before now. “What was I saying?”

“It was like, ‘Oh my gosh, Yasha, you’re so hot and muscly, I like you so much.’” Beau threw her pillow at Jester, who didn’t so much duck as move sideways as she braced for impact. “Sounded like a fun dream,” Jester continued to tease, undeterred.

“You’re a terror. You’ve been told that, right?”

Jester nodded solemnly. “How’s your head?”

“Better.”

Jester fished around in her pockets. “Yasha gave me some… I don’t play sports, this stuff.” Jester held out a familiar enough tube of ointment.

“Liniment.”

Jester shrugged, clearly not invested in learning the actual name. “She said it would help.”

“Sweet, thanks.” Beau held out her hand, but Jester shook her head.

“She gave it to me, I’ll put it on. You can’t even see what you’re doing anyway.”

Beau squinted at Jester, trying to gage how much this was teasing and how much it was her genuinely trying to take control of the situation. “I normally manage fine,” Beau offered tentatively, not entirely sure if she wanted Jester to accept her rebuff.

Jester made the same sort of dismissive noise she had made when Beau had objected to the sudden wound irrigation last night. She waved her hand, indicating that Beau should move a bit towards the foot of her bed. Beau repositioned herself as instructed.

Jester climbed on the bed behind her, sitting cross-legged as well. “Can I ask you to take your shirt off?”

“Is it so hot on the Coast that all of you have no boundaries, or is it to do with your mom’s work?”

“If you think a sports-bra and shorts is no boundaries, then both,” said Jester. She tugged at the front of Beau’s shirt, but made no effort to actually remove it. Beau followed the prompt, though.

“Can I pull the straps of your bra down?”

“Fucking hell, Jess. We get it, your mother is a sex worker. You know what consent is.”

Jester flicked Beau in the back of the head, and that almost, _almost_ set Beau off. But then she felt Jester move her bra straps down to hug her deltoids, and for the first time in her life her lesbianism had Beau coming to her senses rather than losing them.

“Asshole,” Jester stage whispered.

“I heard that,” Beau joked back.

A familiar smell then hit Beau’s nose, followed shortly after by Jester running a slightly greasy hand down the side of her neck, directly beneath her ear.

“So does your girlfriend have to do this for you at home, or are you less wound up when she’s around?” Jester’s tone was as pleasant as her intention was obvious.

“Did I say I had a girlfriend?” asked Beau, playing along for now.

“So, you don’t then?” said Jester. She finished working the liniment into that side, and moved onto the other. Now that she had some warning, Beau tilted her head to accommodate.

“Who wants to know?”

“We’re just talking, Beau,” Jester said indignantly.

“From where I’m sitting, you’re asking me for personal information while your hands are wrapped around my neck.” Jester was actually doing a fairly good job of staying away from both Beau’s carotid and her windpipe, but that was beside the point.

“You carry the conversation, then,” grumbled Jester. At the same time, she began digging her thumb into just the right spot of Beau’s neck. Beau murmured appreciatively in spite of herself. “What?”

“’S nice.” And it was, although Beau was fairly sure Jester wasn’t doing much to address the knot itself.

Gradually, the prickling sensation of the liniment began to build, a delayed notification of where Jester had been. With that and Jester’s hands still on her, Beau felt her muscles loosening until her head was able to lull forward a little. “Don’t fall asleep again,” warned Jester.

In the end it was all over before Beau could have fallen asleep again, but it was a close-run thing. Beau swallowed a twinge of sadness when she heard Jester re-cap the tube. “Thanks,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No problem,” said Jester. “Now get dressed, we were already late for breakfast.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Beau said, pulling her bra straps back up. “And don’t worry, we’ve got, like, seven minutes.” Jester checked her watch. “Do you doubt me?”

Jester bent down and threw Beau her shirt from off the ground. “Five minutes.”

“I guess your watch is fast, then.” Beau grinned and Jester snorted.

Once again, Jester didn’t take her hand for the walk, which was both better and worse after sitting against Jester on the bed for however long. It was made distinctly worse, however, when Beau remembered her dream, which was a cruel trick for her subconscious to have played on her.

Crueller still was the fact that the pit in Beau had barely registered what had just transpired, but the rest of her suddenly found prospect of bedding some girl on Tuesday night a tiny bit less exciting.


	27. Try Not To Turn On To Problems That Upset You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Everything's Alright from Jesus Christ Superstar
> 
> Touch starved and shoddily proofread 2.0. Also, Yasha and Beau in today's episode had me yelling.
> 
> Hope y'all are having a good week and that you enjoy!

“Hi Nott, is Yasha in?”

“Yasha, are you in?” Nott was unnecessarily loud, given the distance between them.

“Yes,” said Yasha, closing her book. “Did you need me for something?”

Jester poked her head in the door. “Beau was out of sorts, had a headache, you know, and she fell asleep while we were doing the injury paperwork. I figure that you were there when it happened, so you could help me? Rather than waking her up.”

Yasha had to admit she was surprised. “Molly was also there, I would have thought he would have been your first choice.”

Jester bit her lip. “I can ask him if you’re busy, or if…” She gestured vaguely.

Yasha wasn’t sure what the other reason she might be unavailable was, but she certainly wasn’t busy. “I am happy to help, I was just curious.” Yasha stood. “Can we work outside?”

Jester nodded. “I know a good spot.”

Jester took Yasha to a picnic table a little way away from the hall. The long shadows of the afternoon left the whole thing in shade, which Yasha preferred.

“This is a good spot,” said Yasha.

“Thanks.”

Yasha took a seat. “You are a good friend to Beau, doing her paperwork for her.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, but Jester immediately got defensive. “It wasn’t supposed to be doing it for her, I just… didn’t want to wake her.” Jester sat up a little straighter, tucked her hair behind her ear. “And I wanted to return the favour because she’s been, you know, showing me the ropes since I got here.”

Yasha knew how Molly used that phrase, so she wiggled an eyebrow. “No! Not like that,” Jester protested.

“I’m just making fun,” said Yasha, but she made a mental note of the poor reaction.

Jester chewed on the end of her pen. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Apparently.”

Jester groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Yasha confirmed. “Go ahead.”

“Do I, uh… Do you respect me? I mean most people, when they meet me, do you think they respect me?”

Yasha looked Jester over. “Are worried about the campers? You have eight-nines, I’m sure they will be easy to impress.”

“Just…” Jester waved both her hands, indicating that Yasha should answer.

“Of course I respect you.”

“No, not of course.” Jester slumped forward, head in her folded arms. “I want know what you actually think.”

“That is what I actually think.” Jester didn’t seem convinced, sighing dramatically. “If you’re not going to take a ‘yes’ I’m not sure why you asked,” Yasha added, only half joking.

“I don’t know either,” Jester said.

“Then we’re in agreement. Not a helpful agreement, but agreement.”

Jester shrugged, and then lapsed into the kind of silence that meant a person was both unable to be cheerful but unwilling not to be. She gazed past Yasha with an aggressively neutral expression of the same kin.

“Fjord is from the Coast, like you,” Yasha tried. “And I’m obviously not, but we both agree that Empire culture can be… counterintuitive.” Yasha picked a splinter out of the top of the table. “It can make you feel incompetent, or like people think you’re incompetent, but neither of those things are actually true. And don’t know if that’s the problem here, but maybe talking to someone who knows your home will make you feel better.”

Jester smiled, although it faltered as she spoke. “Port Damali is pretty different from Nicodranas. I mean, from what I’ve heard. Mostly from Fjord.” Jester shook her head. “But Fjord was also a sailor, and I was… I didn’t get out much. So maybe they’re not different. I don’t know.”

“ _Not getting out much_ figuratively or literally?” The only thing worse than a confusing metaphor was a phrase that could be used either way.

“Both,” said Jester.

Jester’s nervous energy at least clarified some things. “And that’s what worries you, yes?”

“What?”

“That people won’t respect you because you didn’t get out much?”

“I think so.” Jester shook her head again. “It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.”

Yasha leaned forward to rest her chin on the table as well, copying the way Beau had levelled her eyeline to Jester’s last night. “Clearly it does matter, because it upsets you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jester said quickly.

“Okay,” Yasha humoured.

There was another short lapse into silence. Then Yasha ventured, “But Beau _showing you the ropes_ , I think was the phrase, that bothers you?”

“No, she’s- I probably needed it. It’s been helpful.” Jester scrunched up her face a little. “But also, I don’t want her to feel like she’s got other camper to look after, you know? And I don’t want Fjord to feel like that when we have to work together, or Molly, or any of you guys.”

Yasha sat up, and Jester mirrored her. “Well, I understand not wanting that…” Yasha took a moment to articulate the thought properly, “…but I think you might consider that the type of people who would come to work on a summer camp might, for whatever reason, take some pride in being relied upon.” Yasha took out the Magician’s Judge and began to mess with it. “Also, judging by how she’s been getting on with Molly, I’m sure Beau will have no trouble letting you will know if you actually overstep.”

Jester seemed to take the points, at least. “You’re probably right.”

“Well, I think I am. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Jester began to leaf through the report papers. “I guess I just want to be useful too, you know?”

“I understand.”

The paperwork didn’t take that long, especially considering how repetitive the questions were. Yasha found herself a little mesmerised by how quick yet neat Jester’s handwriting was. Even in longhand, she moved across the page at pace with Yasha’s speaking. Maybe that just meant Yasha was speaking slowly, who knows?

When they were done, and Yasha had offered some liniment to take to Beau, Jester said her thanks and flounced away like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulder. Yasha was also glad that she, too, could be useful.

Jester still seemed peppy when she and Beau arrived for dinner. Beau just seemed strangely pensive, although she didn’t bicker with Molly any more or less than usual. Bicker the two of them did, though, over the movie chosen.

“This our only chance to watch a child-unfriendly movie on the big outdoor screen,” Beau grumbled between mouthfuls of mashed potato into which she had folded the rest of the vegetables and a few generous squirts of barbecue sauce. “I can’t believe it’s being wasted on a shitty horror movie.”

Molly rolled his eyes. “You tastes aside, Miss Beau, it is a _classic_.”

“If I wanted to watch _classics_ I’d go to the Cobalt Soul movie nights.”

Beau continued with a mild sulk through the shortened debrief, although she did keep throwing Yasha a glance every time Norda said something patronising or xenophobic or otherwise off colour. Yasha had a reasonably thick skin by now, but as always there was something sweet about Beau playing sentinel, checking in that Yasha was okay. Or maybe Beau was just looking for an excuse to to pick a fight with Norda, who knows?

After debrief, most of the leaders returned to their cabins to change into something more comfortable for the movie. Nott apparently needed a little more than fuzzy socks to comfort herself though, judging by the acrid smell coming off the cup she was drinking from when Yasha walked in.

Nott watched Yasha suspiciously as Yasha began readying herself. “If you’re going to say something, I’d rather you said it now than have you tattling to Caleb again,” she said.

“Last time was a mistake on my part, my apologies,” said Yasha, slipping an old band shirt over her head. It still smelled faintly of Zuala, which made it ideal for lulling herself to sleep.

“Do you want some?” Nott held out a second cup.

“I’m alright, thank you.”

There was something inherently amusing about seeing her colleagues sitting around on picnic blankets in pyjamas and normal shoes. Beau had already kicked hers off by the time Yasha arrived, and seemed to be rubbing her feet against the grass.

Molly was waiting for Yasha. He was wearing his night attire for when he wasn’t having a _hot_ friend over, which included a loose singlet that covered the worst of the scaring on his torso. He also sported a light, ostentatiously coloured robe that hung comfortably to his knees and that he never seemed interested in tying closed.

As he waved Yasha over, she could see now that his hair was freshly washed and, unusually, blow-dried. His curls has not taken that treatment well, either. Although Molly usually seemed either not to notice or not to care about potential idiosyncrasies in his appearance, hair he did care about, and so that acted as a pretty clear signal to Yasha.

She sat down next to Molly, and ran her fingers through his hair gently. “Are we lonely tonight, Mollymauk?”

“Always, Miss Yasha.”

The grass beneath them, while not exactly a couch, was soft enough that Yasha figured it would do for their usual ritual. Yasha folded her legs to one side, and Molly lay down perpendicular to her, head in her lap.

As the screen lit up and Fjord made some opening remarks, Yasha began to lace her finger through Molly’s hair. She always loved watching movies with him. Although Yasha knew objectively she was indulging him, it always felt somewhat like he was also indulging her. Any time Yasha turned away from the screen and looked back at him, he was smiling up at her, and every few check-ins he would reach up and pinch her chin too.

Eventually Yasha settled, and maybe ten minutes passed without her looking away from the movie. Then Molly spoke. “Yasha?

Yasha looked down to see that she had formed a twist starting at Molly’s temples and tracing its way around his ear. “Too tight?” said Yasha, beginning to unpick it before Molly had even answered. It was a weak excuse, but Molly always accepted it. He tended to take those sorts of subconscious slips in Yasha’s fingers as a compliment anyway.

In defence of the excuse, Molly’s scalp was quite sensitive, and was already a little irritated from the short confinement. Yasha hummed apologetically, massaging behind Molly’s ear with the pads of her fingers.

Thankfully, at around that same time Jester appeared on the edge of the group. She looked across the group, clearly unsure of who to settle in with.

 _“_ Miss Jester! Come join us!” Molly hissed, flagging her down.

Jester was on the ground next to them almost immediately, and anxiety melting off her.

“Don’t be shy, my dear,” Molly said, grabbing a handful of her cardigan to tug her towards him. A smile crept onto Jester’s face. After scooting a little, she turned her back to Molly and lay her head on his stomach, positioned such a way that Molly could have wrapped his legs around her waist if he wanted.

Molly rested the back of his hand on one of Jester’s cheeks. He muttered something in Infernal, clicking his tongue sympathetically at the end of a couple of phrases. The word _hot_ was in there once (it was one of his favourite words, after all), and Yasha was fairly sure she recognised references to the Coast and the Empire at some point in there as well.

In turn, Jester seemed dismissive of Molly’s sympathies. She said something, and then took one of his hands in both of hers. Apparently mindful that Yasha may have been interested in the movie, she lowered her voice, but continued chatting as she played with his nails, running her fingertips over the cracked polish.

Yasha could hear in his tone that Molly was dismissive of the dismissiveness. He used his free hand the brush her fringe fully up and off her face, resting his palm on her forehead. Jester exhaled, and even though Molly was acting as a buffer between herself and Jester, Yasha could practically feel Jester relaxing all the same. Molly was grinning victoriously, doubly so when Jester closed her eyes.

Then Molly said something about _my friend_ , and then something about sex (which Yasha probably should have guessed would happen eventually), and Jester made a relaxed but curious noise in reply. Whatever it was, Molly seemed to clarify himself easily enough. Jester smiled, and nodded.

“Yasha, of course, is a better at that sort of thing than me,” said Molly, in Common now, presumably for Yasha’s benefit. He quickly glanced up at Yasha, and she tilted her head in question. “Trust me, I’m not leaving my cabin with my hair undone unless I’m expecting something spectacular in exchange,” he continued, still addressing Jester but clearly looking to give Yasha a little more context.

Yasha had been working her fingers through Molly’s hair on autopilot up until that point, but now she stopped self-consciously. She pulled on a few of Molly’s curls while he gave an exaggerated pout at the interruption. “I promise I’m behaving,” he said.

“Behaving badly, by the sounds of things,” Yasha retorted.

“Always,” said Molly, head butting her hand a little.

Yasha resumed massaging his scalp, earning an appreciative murmur. “What are you two gossiping about?” said Yasha.

Jester’s eyes were still closed as she answered. “Cuddling.” Then Jester turned onto her side, as if she was going to watch the movie, except that her eyes were still closed. Molly started to trace patterns through her hair with his pinkie.

Yasha recognised Molly’s classic Infernal turns of phrase better from his mouth, but she was pretty sure Jester said something about marrying Molly, to which he laughed. Yasha leaned forward to see a self-satisfied grin on Jester’s face, so she was clearly in on the joke, whatever it was.

Molly murmured something, and Jester responded by making another quarter rotation so that she was lying on her stomach, cheek against Molly’s diaphragm. Molly placed one hand protectively over Jester’s shoulder-blade, and rested the other on the crown of her head. He asked a question, and she answered, and then he began to scratch her scalp lightly. Jester didn’t do much after that, just made the occasional contented noise.

Yasha wasn’t keeping a close eye on things, so it wasn’t until a while later that she looked down from the movie to find Molly trying to silently catch her attention. He gestured to Jester, who seemed to be fast asleep.

Yasha gave Molly a quick thumbs up, and he grinned.

It was almost a shame to wake Jester when it was over. She didn’t seem particularly worried about having missed the movie. She blinked slowly at Molly and Yasha in turn while she began disentangled herself- Molly had wrapped his robe over her as best he could- and Yasha could see the lines from the fabric of Molly’s singlet on Jester’s cheek.

“I do believe I’ve taken a shine to her,” Molly commented affectionately, once Jester was out of earshot.

“You do like the wayward ones,” Yasha joked self-depreciatively.

Molly rubbed his eyes. “I dare say I look a little like her too, don’t I?”

There were what looked like ethnic rather than familial similarities, although Yasha couldn’t quite place them, so she shrugged. That was all the confirmation Molly needed to smile softly. He ran his fingers over his front teeth. “No lateral incisors,” he said, and of course once he pointed it out, it was obvious. “She’s got the hair too, but no way for me to have known that until now.”

“The teeth, that’s how you guessed she would speak Infernal?”

Yasha’s pants were fraying at the knee, and Molly began to pick at it. “The heritage doesn’t always carry visibly, of course. Sometimes it just pops up after skipping a generation or two. But knowing that she was from the Coast, it was a safe bet that she would at the very least not take offense when I started addressing her in Infernal.” Molly had a sudden burst of energy and he sat up, went cross legged to face Yasha, and leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t know how I know the difference, but she has the most delightful accent. Very posh.”

“Is that so?”

“When have I ever lied to you, Miss Yasha?” Molly clutched his imaginary pearls.

“Often, and about the most pointless things.”

Molly gave a conceding head tilt. “Well, I wouldn’t about something this important.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Yasha ruffled his hair with both hands, and even though it didn’t leave it more or less mussed than before, Molly grumbled and shook his hair out when she was done, making sure to sweep his fringe to one side.

“You’re cruel,” he said with faux annoyance.

Yasha picked at the knee of her pants now. She would have to fix those. “How does it feel to be around someone who, you know, looks like you and can speak your language?”

Molly looked away. Yasha thought for a good minute that she had pushed too hard, been too serious. Molly didn’t like this kind of talk. But then he looked back at her, and she could swear his eyes were a little damp, although his voice remained even.

“The thing I wonder the most about them-” _the them of his body,_ Yasha knew, _the them he was before_ , “-is what their childhood was like. I have told myself, and I do believe, that I've forgotten for a reason.” Molly hugged himself, brushing his fingers over the cigarette scars lay beneath the robe. The ones in spots he could reach himself, anyway. “And I suppose it’s a bit of a trite sentiment, but if I’m wrong, and I did have a happy childhood, and I did have a good family, and I did have a sister, I have always imagined her very much like our blue-haired friend.”

“But not as posh sounding?” said Yasha. Molly gave the spluttered laugh of someone brought from the brink of tears back to their senses.

“Of course. That’s a given.”

Once Molly had been put to bed, Yasha realised she hadn’t brushed her teeth before the movie. So, she collected her toiletries and made her way up to the shower block. There were almost no lights left on in the campsite by now, and given the bleary state she had been in when Yasha last saw her, Yasha had not expected to find Jester sitting in the staff bathroom, staring absently at the wall.

“Are you okay?” said Yasha.

“Oh, yeah,” said Jester, glancing at Yasha and tucking some hair behind her ear. “I probably shouldn’t have slept during the movie.”

“Not tired anymore?” Yasha began to ready her toothbrush.

“Oh, I can sleep anywhere, any time,” said Jester proudly. “It’s just that my meds have worn off, and so now I’ve just got…” Jester moved her hands to indicate a swell of something across her body. “Just homesick, you know?”

Jester turned to face Yasha fully, and while her face and tone of voice conveyed excitement, her words did not. “Pret-ty lame, right?”

“No, I understand.” Yasha placed her toothbrush on the edge of the basin. “Is there anything I can do?”

Jester looked like she was about to give an instinctive no, but then she reconsidered and said, “Could you give me a hug? Like a tight hug? Really, really tight. I’m very strong, so it will be hard to hurt me.”

“Like I’m trying to crack your back?”

“If you can do that, that’s nice too,” said Jester. “Obviously, totally okay if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, I’m pretty good at this,” said Yasha.

Jester stood, suddenly seeming cautious. Yasha wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to do either, but she had done plenty of amateur chiropractic work back in Xhorhas, so she used that as a template. She enveloped Jester and squeezed her tightly, clasping her two hands behind Jester’s back. Jester leaned against Yasha a little, although not with nearly the same confidence she’d had with Molly.

They were like that for a minute, maybe two, before Jester loosened up. That was probably Jester’s signal that she had gotten what she came for but, just for fun, Yasha pulled her hands firmly inwards, summoning an audible pop from Jester’s spine.

Jester made a surprised noise at the same time that Yasha released her. As they stepped apart the two women grinned at each other. “Thank you,” said Jester.

“My pleasure.”

Yasha made her way back over to the sink and began to brush her teeth. She could see in the mirror that Jester floundered for a minute, attempting to sort out her toiletries into their bag. She definitely still seemed fairly absent, but a little less distressed.

Jester did eventually gathered up her belongings and take her leave. “Goodnight,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.

Yasha’s mouth was full of toothpaste, so she smiled and waved rather than reply.


	28. Close Your Eyes And Relax, Think Of Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Everything's Alright from Jesus Christ Superstar
> 
> A number of Happenings in this chapter, so she runs a little bit long lads, but I figure that's probably not a problem.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The movie choice was complete bullshit, but whatever.

Beau wasn’t exactly keen to wash all the liniment off while it was still active, which meant after dinner all she had left to do was change into something more comfortable and make her way over to the plateau where the screen was set up. Being one of the first ones to arrive, she had her choice of picnic blanket, so she picked one that partially covered a ring of darkened grass.

Beau grinned as she settled in, even though it wasn’t like her colleagues were going to tell her off for sitting in a witches’ circle. She knew that she should have been satisfied with that act of defiance alone, but Beau took her shoes off and trailed her toes back and forth through the grass, breaking the ring again and again. The rush of adrenaline felt like cold water in her veins, although whether it was the result of excitement or anger or fear was anyone’s guess.

The movie choice was bullshit, because what was it supposed to make her feel? It wasn’t bad enough to be funny, but the nearly hot-pink blood didn’t exactly evoke fear or disgust. She felt more from running her bare foot over a strip of funny coloured grass.

Beau had been shifting positions for about half an hour, trying not the bail on the exercise entirely, when Nott sat down next to her. Beau sat up, about to tell Nott that she didn’t know where Caleb was, when Nott held out a cup. “You look stressed,” she said, her voice slightly less raspy when she was speaking quietly.

Nott twitched a mix of fear and… was that pain? _Distress_. She was making too much eye contact, her smile was too wide and too much like a grimace. Beau’s hesitation also created the lightest flash of anger. _Irritation? Frustration?_

Those were the undertones of it, but the surface of it would have been clear to anyone. Desperation.

Beau didn’t need to sniff the contents of the cup to guess what was happening, but that certainly confirmed it. “What is this, cola and cheap vodka?” Beau was more curious than scandalised. She knew that the directors would probably cut them some slack if they got caught, given they were off duty as far as loco parentis went.

Nott shrugged and took a pull from her own cup, relaxing slightly. “Didn’t take you for someone with a refined enough palate to care.”

Beau grinned and swirled the liquid in her cup, sticking her nose in. “Notes of high-fructose corn syrup and paint stripper,” she declared. She took a mouthful and swished it around as long as she could stand, given it was already starting to burn.

“Sandpaper mouthfeel, finishes like shit,” she added after swallowing.

“My apologies that it doesn’t suit madame’s taste,” said Nott with a toothy grin. Beau grinned back and drained her cup. “Oh, shit, okay,” said Nott, following suit.

Beau passed her cup back to Nott. “I’ll take one more, but only if you bring a water for each of us as well.”

Once Nott had scuttled off, Beau scanned the diffuse crowd, looking for Caleb. She pretty quickly spotted him, and he was glaring.

 _What?_ Beau mouthed. Caleb just shook his head and turned back to the screen.

When Nott returned, handing Beau two cups, Beau remarked, “I think your boyfriend’s jealous.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Nott, although the fact that neither of them needed to specify who they were talking about spoke volumes.

Nott didn’t seem put out by the idea or anything, but Beau was surprised. “He’s your boy on the side, then?” she tried, a tad emboldened by the alcohol and unwilling to believe that her read was completely wrong.

Nott took a sip from her cup. “For fucks sake,” she muttered in Halfling.

“I’m just curious,” responded Beau in kind.

Nott raised an eyebrow. “You speak Halfling?”

“No. I’m just making random sounds, but it seems to be working out.”

Nott took a healthy sip now. “You don’t sound like you should speak Halfling.”

“That’s because I’m a co-ordinate bilingual,” said Beau, moving back to Common, given she didn’t know the terminology in Halfling. Which, you know, was exactly what she was saying. “But _you_ are a compound bilingual.”

“Is the vodka making you smarter?” Nott squinted. “Either that, or you’re just making shit up.”

“Brain cells having a last hurrah before I kill them.” Beau drained her cup, and then chased it with the full cup of water. “Alright, I am cutting us both off, and you will thank me when we are both surrounded by hoards of screaming children tomorrow.”

Nott didn’t look disappointed, exactly, but she didn’t look pleased either. She stacked up the cups.

Beau leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the warmth in her bloodstream. Nott was right, she had needed this. The liniment had helped, but with the alcohol her neck and shoulders felt nice and loose. Truthfully, Nott wouldn’t have had to protest that much to convince Beau to go in for another round.

“So, not that I don’t appreciate your company and beverages, but what did I do to earn the pleasure of your company tonight? Does your boy-toy not drink?” Zemnians were famously good drinkers, as far as Beau was aware, but each to their own.

Nott shrugged. “Caleb drinks. He just doesn’t like it when I drink.”

“Ah, Dad said no, so you came to Mom. Rodger.” Beau smirked. “That was always my preferred strategy.”

Nott pulled a face. “I just figured you weren’t the type to snitch, regardless of whether you partook.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Beau. “I have my price, of course, but it’s certainly too rich for the directors’ blood.”

Nott looked bemused. “I’ll bear that in mind, in case we decide to keep better funded company at some point.”

There wasn’t much left of the movie after that. As soon as it was over, Nott got up and left, dodging Caleb’s efforts to intercept her.

Jester also made herself scarce for a good hour after the movie was over. Back in their cabin, Beau played on her phone, maybe dozed with the lights on for a little while. When Beau was just about sober enough to actually go searching for her roommate, Jester finally made her appearance.

“What sort of time do you call this?” Beau said, in her best imitation of Dairon’s deadpan. Well, either her deadpan or her disappointment. Beau had heard the phrase both ways and, even with her superpower, found the tones genuinely indistinguishable.

“So the headache is definitely gone then,” said Jester, pointing to the lights and changing the subject.

“Yeah, it’s a lot better.”

Jester nodded. “Let’s see the cut then, and then I’ll let you sleep.” Her tone was the sort of business-like pleasant that was supposed to take a person off their guard, stop them from realising that they were doing the person a favour. Beau didn’t operate like that, but it had become apparent from this morning’s fiasco that Jester was pretty feisty when it came to wound care, so Beau didn’t object.

Jester sat down on the edge of the bed. She bent Beau’s knee enough that she could get under and remove the bandage. Beau looked away, trying to force herself to sink into what alcohol remained in her system.

Jester stretched the skin around scab a little, working across the slightly jagged wound like she was searching for something. “Where did you get vodka?” she said out of the blue. When Beau blinked in confusion, she added, “I can smell it.”

Beau pursed her lips. “When the kids get here, will that keep you busy enough that I can finally get some peace?” Beau’s internal filter wasn’t able to hold back the comment, but it did remove most of the bite from the delivery.

“Maybe.” Beau didn’t know she could look forward to tomorrow even more than she already was. “Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine,” said Beau. She got out her phone, as if that was going to support her assertion.

Jester shook her head. “You look half asleep.” Jester looked so smug every time she said something like that, it was starting to get a little infuriating.

“You’re always trying to get me to sleep. Do you like me better unconscious or something?”

“Well, it is the only time you’re quiet.” Jester paused a little too long before and after for the joke to sit comfortably.

Jester started to dab the cut with rubbing alcohol, Beau tried not to look pained, literally or figuratively. “I’m quiet now,” she said softly, before wincing.

Jester leaned in, straddling Beau’s leg a little. “Only because you’re tired,” she said, tweaking Beau’s nose, although not as hard as she had the other night.

“I’m not tired.”

“ _I’m not tired_.” Distinct from instances thus far, Jester opted for a higher octave than both of their voices for her parody. She went to tweak Beau’s nose again, but Beau blocked Jester as firmly but gently as she could.

“Great comeback, no way for me to win against that one.” Beau folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “We done?”

Jester nodded, tossing the used medical supplies into the bin behind her. “Leave it to air overnight,” she commanded.

“Yes, Mother,” Beau snarked on instinct. Maybe she hadn’t sobered up quite as much as she’d thought, because she hadn’t used that line in years. Probably not since Zeenoth. She was unsure what emotion she was even trying to colour the quip with.

Whatever it was, it was clearly harsh enough to worry Jester, although that had proved an inconsistent measure so far. None the less, Beau attempted to correct with an additional, “Can do.” Too little, too late, probably, but it was best not to dwell.

Maybe Jester was tired, or something else was off, because Beau could get nothing helpful from the twitching. Jester wore a smile on top (which was confusing enough), and then nothing below. Couldn’t she at the very least have a decency to mirror Beau, for fucks sake? Give Beau a chance to see what she was feeling in a face she could understand?

Beau knew she was staring, but then again so was Jester. After locking gazes for what felt like ten minutes but couldn’t have been more than ten second, Jester finally gave more than the smile. Beau would have called it a flicker rather than a twitch. The soft, full body fear. _Hesitation._ _Apprehension._

Beau was still trying to riddle that one out when Jester pressed her first two fingers to her lips, and then against Beau’s knee. It was a joke. It was clearly a joke, because Jester was doing that cheeky smile again.

“Ew, girl germs,” said Beau. She lay down, kicking Jester away from her with both feet as she did so.

Thankfully, Beau had endured her monthly quota of dreams in her one nap, so once she fell asleep it was nothing but the sweet embrace of the dark. And then, like the gods had snapped their fingers, morning.

Morning. Morning. Sunday morning.

Beau could feel her pulse rate sky rocket the second she processed it. She could feel it in her whole body. Stupid and giddy. The promise of the thing better than food, better than wine, better than girls.

“You’re in a good mood,” said Yasha. She had taken to standing inside the gate while she waited of a morning, possibly so that Beau only had to witness her climbing it one per day, on their way out.

Good mood was probably the wrong way of framing it. It was more like Beau was finally in sync with the rest of the world, rather than her usual hurry-up-and-wait existence.

“Amped to see the kids,” Beau said. She vaulted the gate and started heading down to the water. She couldn’t have paused if she wanted to.

Yasha trailed at a half-jog. “You’re going to want to do a long run today, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Oh boy.”

Of course, Molly found his entertainment in it all. “So we’ve established that Beau got body-snatched overnight,” he said, addressing the rest of the table, “but how did everyone else sleep?”

“With my eyes closed.”

“Miss Yasha, please never make that joke again.”

Caleb was doing his usual half-waking blink as he mumbled, “I think this is just Beau when she’s, uh, turned on the charm. When she’s on her A-game.”

Beau was surprised by the support, honestly. Caleb had seemed pretty peeved last night, and Beau had figured he’d be better at holding grudges. Maybe he was just looking to preserve a reasonable working relationship. Whatever the reason, she’d take it.

Once breakfast had been cleared away, the staff made quick work of turning the hall into an efficient factory line. Sign kids in here, medication to a first aid officer. Find name amongst the lanyards. Tick them off the list. Luggage here, take a photo for ID purposes, give their luggage back, and then palm them off to a leader who would show them to their cabin.

Reasonable. Easy. Orderly.

Then came a final once-over of the campsite, in which Beau found herself being run ragged by Norda and Gustav, which she tried to take more as an empathic recognition of her excitement and not a patronising one.

The directors all gave some final words of comfort over the early lunch. After the meal there was a strange last minute scramble as everyone realised they’d forgotten to grab their sunglasses or that this would probably be their last chance to use the bathroom in peace for the next nine weeks.

Beau, as per tradition, spent this liminal time trying to find where she’d squirrelled away her lanyard for safe keeping (it was in her sharpies pencil case, which did its job of reminding her to attach a couple of the pens). None of the leaders had really been wearing their lanyards up until this point, but from here on out it was mandatory. Judging by the troubled intrigue on Caleb’s face when Beau returned the hall, she guessed that even he was only inspecting his in detail for the first time. “What are the bears becoming?”

“Fucked if I know,” said Beau. She ran her fingers around the crisp seam of her own name tag. _Beau Lionett. Team leader. Becoming Bears._ It was always strange to see the diminutive (the derivative?) of her name next to her last name. An unsettling mix of formal and familiar.

Caleb inspected Beau now. “Yasha wasn’t kidding. You are practically vibrating.”

Beau pressed down the desire to ask what else he and Yasha had been gossiping about. “Yeah, well, I guess I like my job. Sue me.”

“It’s wasn’t a complaint,” said Caleb. “I think it’s good, even.” Caleb hugged Frumpkin to his chest. “Any final words of wisdom for me?”

Beau paused briefly to curate her top three. “It’s harder for kids to cry when they’re drinking something through a straw. If you’re trying to get down to eye level then kneel, don’t squat. And keep the damn cat in your jacket.”

Caleb blinked. “Oh, that’s-”

“You’ll be fine,” said Beau, more as an instruction than a comfort, if she was being honest.

By this point The Gentleman had finally reached them. “Team Delinquent, I’m putting you on sign in. Beau, if you could show Mr Widogast the ropes.”

Unsurprisingly, Caleb was a quick study. If Beau was being critical, she probably would have said Caleb picked up more of the procedure than the social niceties, but at least for the most part his apprehension didn’t rub off onto the kids.

Beau only had to abandon Caleb once, to calm down a kid whose parents had left before he’d even found his lanyard. To Bryce’s credit, it was a problem that was, no question, right in Beau's wheelhouse, so much so that she’d clocked the sniffling a few seconds before Bryce hurried over to tap her for the job.

“Okay,” she said, kneeling down next to the kid. He wasn’t hysterical. In fact, he was doing an admirable job controlling his breathing. “We’re going to be fine,” Beau said firmly as she picked through the red lanyards.

“Look at that, you’re on the team with my friends Jester and Fjord. That’s pretty cool.” The kid took the lanyard from her, scrubbing his hand across his eyes. “Hey, I need a break from Caleb.” Beau jabbed her thumb in Caleb’s direction. “Will you sit on the stairs with me until I’m ready to go back?” The kid nodded.

Beau put his duffel bag to one side and the two of them sat on the stairs. Sitting was good, because she could get level with him without it being murder on her knees. They were silent for while, and Beau could see his distress gradually coalescing into anger.

“They always do this!” he finally burst out. And then he started crying again.

“Heading off before you were ready?” Beau was trying to phrase the accusation in a way that was non-judgemental, but it was hard.

“Yeah.” Hearing that was like a gut punch, in the sense that it was very familiar and yet difficult to build up a tolerance to.

“I’m sorry,” said Beau. And then, with every instinct screaming against it, begging her to neutralise the threat, she sat in that place with him. Because fuck, if she’d had that when she was going through this, who knows how she might have turned out.

He raked his hand against his eyes again. “You didn’t do anything,” he said through gritted teeth. Maybe it was just projecting, but he seemed just as angry about being brought to tears as he was about the drop-and-run.

“I know I didn’t,” said Beau, hugging her knees and running her finger under her anklet, “but I wish I had a magic wand that I could wave to make it better.”

He looked away, but he didn’t object. “I like your piercings,” he said. He was clearly done talking feelings, which suited Beau fine.

Beau touched her eyebrow piercing, because that was where he seemed to be looking. “Thanks. I got them to make my dad mad.” The kid laughed a little. “And because I liked them, don’t get me wrong. You shouldn’t put metal in your face just to make someone mad.”

Beau ran her finger under the anklet again and the kid started playing with his shoelaces. He was mirroring Beau’s body language. Good.

“I like you,” he said abruptly, and then looked away.

Beau felt herself smile a little. “And why’s that?”

“Because you didn’t say anything about me being brave.”

“Eh, it’s overrated,” said Beau. The kid wiped his eyes, but a little less aggressively this time.

Beau glanced over to the doorway. “That’s Fjord.” She pointed. “Do you want to go over and introduce yourself? Then Molly can do your glamour shots.” He hesitated, and Beau added, “Just an offer. If you’re not sick of me, I’m happy to keep shirking my duties.”

“Shirking?”

“Avoiding.”

“Oh, right.” The kid wiped his face, which was a little less red now, on his collar. “What’s Fjord like?”

“Not brave either, if that helps.” Beau let one of her legs dangle free. “He’ll take good care of you. And if he doesn’t, you tell me and I’ll beat him up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I mean it too,” he retorted, a hint of sass in his voice.

The two hours sign in window closed soon after that. Kids were shepherded into the hall for opening announcements. Leaders mostly stood in a ring around the edge, although Jester was sitting in the thick of it, holding a finger to her lips each time the kids nearby started talking.

Fjord appeared next to Beau. “The Gentleman wants to know how quickly you’re going to be able to get into your spot for the leader hunt,” he said.

“Pretty quick. I’ll head out after rules, it’s my favourite part.”

The camp rules sketch had been pretty much the same since Beau was a camper. “We respect _people_. We respect _property_. We respect _place_ ,” said Norda.

In the background Bryce poked Gustav in the rib repeatedly, ignoring his louder and louder protests. Norda turned to the pair of them, shot them a shockingly unconvincing glare, and then asked the campers if the two directors were following the rules. The campers echoed a resounding no. Full marks.

Gustav pantomimed snatching Bryce's cap off their head and frisbeeing it offstage. Giggles from the crowd, particularly the younger kids. Was that following the rules? Nope, came the consensus.

“I’m going to go throw some rocks at a tree!” announced Bryce. Beau had to clamp her hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh, and looked over to Yasha. Yasha was looking at Nott with a just a hair of confusion. Nott had her arms folded, put out.

Was throwing rocks at the tree respecting the place? No? Correct. Children really are the future.

The directors then took suggestions for behaviours that would be respecting The Three Ps. Answers ranged from “don’t litter” to “mind your own business”.

Fjord leaned in again. “Not flipping your colleague the bird every time you see him,” he said, and then winked. Beau knew part of the amusement of that comment for him was that she couldn’t flip him off in response.

As the directors transitioned into the dull stuff, Beau happily took her leave. She jogged down to and across the soccer field. Standing under the tree, she took her shoes and socks off- stuffing the latter into the former- and tied the laces together so that she could drape them over her neck. Lanyard and attached sharpie went in her pocket. Her phone was safely in her cabin; Beau had vowed she wasn’t going to crack the screen on the first day this time around.

Beau backed up for a running start. She probably didn’t need it, she could have just used a lower branch, but she liked the challenge. Once she was inside the tree, getting some height was easy enough. She’d done this in the dark enough times that softening afternoon light made it a piece of cake.

Her first port of call was right up the top, almost to the point that the tree would start objecting to her adult weight. A branch had grown out almost completely vertical, split, and then lost one of the two branches, giving is the side profile of a lowercase R. She hung her shoes on the divot, taking a second after to pay her respect to the landmark scar in the tree’s bark. _T + B were here._

She descended a little lower so that she had a steady platform to stand on while she re-donned her lanyard. There was a comfortable fork at about that same level that would be her starting position. Sitting there she was really only visible to a person standing at the foot of the tree looking directly up. As the afternoon went on she would probably descend, but for now she was supposed to be one of the more challenging leaders to find.

The Gentleman was apparently doing a quick round of all the leaders before they started. “Everything in working order, Ms Lionett?” he called, craning his neck. Beau gave him a thumbs up.

Not too long after that, Beau heard the distant sound of The Tweeter. She wasn’t sure exactly when that thing had been made, but the chip that supposedly played birdsongs a couple of decades ago now produced something more akin to a heavily distorted rendition of someone trying to squeeze the last remnants of detergent out of a detergent bottle. It was nostalgic to say the least.

Then Beau could hear the sounds of the kids running, and the subsequent cries from the directors that they be careful. The gentle shifting of the canopy above her made the patches of light dance across herself and the branches in which she resided.

Beau closed her eyes and twirled the sharpie back and forth between her fingers. That was all. She didn’t need her phone, or to run, or to hit, or anything else; it was quiet inside her head for the first time in nine and a half months.


	29. Could Be Playing Hide And Seek From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from SUBURBIA by Troye Sivan
> 
> Sup nerds!
> 
> Shorter chapter than the last few*, but thought it might be worth it mostly so y'all know that I'm Not Dead. My uni shortened the semester by a week because we took a pause week in the middle of last semester for them to sort of out covid accommodations, and boy howdy does that 8% compression make more of a difference than it should.
> 
> Anyway, I'm busting with ideas so hopefully I'll get some breathing room to get back to more consistent updates soon. In the meantime, thank you for your patience, and hello to all y'all who have hopped on board while I've been away!! And thank you so much as always for the kudos and lovely comments <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (*to be fair, it's the length that I _intended_ chapters to be, but they started getting a lot longer in practice :-P)

Given the two of them both were making the kids perform tasks rather than hiding, Molly and Yasha had been sent to sit along the boundary of the campsite, to make sure the kids stayed contained. They were spaced at such distance that Yasha could see what Molly was doing, but couldn’t hear what he was saying.

True to his word, Molly was apparently rigging his card games, because there seemed to be a direct relationship between the age of the camper and how many games it took for them to finally win and earn a signature. One game for a red lanyard, up to three for a blue– although he seemed to flex that rule for the more polite campers.

Yasha couldn’t tell at this distance, but she was fairly confident Molly was using one of his marked decks. Prepared for all occasions, he’d brought at least one marked deck, one clean deck, and his tarot deck on camp.

His home collection, of course, was much larger. Molly kept a used pack of cards– hole punched dead through the stack, box and all– from every casino he’d be banned from across the continent.

“Card counting’s not as much fun as other cons, in all honesty,” he had commented one night while they were hanging out.

Yasha had been lying on her stomach on Molly’s couch. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing her eagerly. “Doesn’t get you quite the same attention?” said Yasha, laying her cheek against the cushion.

They were both a little tipsy by this point, but not enough that he wasn’t adding flourishes to his shuffling. “No, and it makes your brain hurt. But it is legal, and I do appreciate that.” Molly, apparently satisfied with his shuffle, started to deal out cards. He was only a few cards in before he paused.

“Do you actually know how to play blackjack?”

“No.” Yasha raised her head to take another swig of beer, and then dropped it again.

“Twenty-one?”

“No.”

“500?”

“I think we can assume I don’t know how to play card games,” said Yasha.

Molly laughed. “It’s nice that you humoured me up until this point, then.” He collected the piles he’d made and started to re-shuffle them. “Shall I do a trick instead?”

Yasha smiled. “I don’t want to move, so sure.”

“Have you ever seen four queens?” Yasha had barely opened her mouth when Molly answered himself. “Stupid question.”

“At least give me the chance to give you a stupid answer,” said Yasha, maybe a touch defensive.

“Have you?” Molly raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Molly smirked and fanned out four cards. “Four queens, yes?”

“It appears so.” Yasha took another swig, but didn’t take her eyes off the cards as Molly snapped them closed and added them to the top of the deck.

“The queens are going to rob a bank.”

“Why are they robbing a bank if they’re queens?”

Molly took a moment to check that Yasha was joking, and then shushed her with good-natured but melodramatic handwaving. “First queen is on the ground floor.” Molly inserted the top card towards the bottom of the deck. “Second queen next floor.” He inserted the next card a little further up. “Third on the next floor again.” Another insert, higher again.

“And the fourth queen–” he turned the top card over “–stayed on the roof as a lookout.” He turned the card back face down.

“Now,” Molly held up a finger, “the queen on the roof heard the cops coming, and so she knocked on the door to let her companions know that it was time to go.” He held out the deck and gestured for Yasha to knock on it. She obliged him.

Molly grinned and continued to hold out the deck. “Do you want to check if they all heard you?”

It was hard to keep a straight face with Molly’s excitement, but Yasha pulled the top four cards and inspected them. “One of them didn’t make it,” she said sadly.

“What?” Molly peered around at Yasha’s hand and smacked her shoulder lightly. There was, of course, four queens. “Lying does not become you, Miss Yasha.”

Fjord had suggested Yasha’s gimmick: to earn Yasha’s signature, the campers had to already have acquired Molly and Nott’s. Word spread quickly, and while Yasha received a portion of the campers that had just finished with Molly, she found herself alone for large stretches of time.

One such stretch was punctuated by the arrival of a nervous looking girl in a green lanyard. She had a single braid running up and around her ear, ending in three black mourning beads. Yasha could see the girl looking at Yasha’s beads in turn.

“I’m Rosla,” the girl said, her voice a mixture of recognition and suspicion. Her accent was Dwendalian, which felt dissonant.

Yasha could feel herself making more eye contact with this girl than she had with all the other campers combined. Was it because Rosla was the first child not to be intimidated by Yasha? Or was it because Yasha found the girl’s body language easy enough decipher that she didn’t get distracted?

“I’m Yasha. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Rosla’s hand instantly went to the beads. “My foster mum didn’t want me to wear them.” There was a hint of injury under the girl’s even tone. Yasha understood that. Death was awful enough, and rituals at least kept some of the chaos at bay.

“She was probably just worried.” Neither of them needed to say what about. Aligning yourself with any part of Xhorhas wasn’t going to win you friends in this climate.

They paused, staring at each other, but it didn’t last long. “What’s your name?” the girl blurted, clearly in spite of herself. “Your proper one?”

Yasha pressed her lips together slightly. “I don’t have one.” It was mostly the truth.

“But you’re married.” She gestured to Yasha’s bead.

“I am.”

“Did you guys get married in the Empire?”

“No, she died before I came here.” That _she_ triggered another look of recognition in Rosla. Things were so much easier when Yasha didn’t have to explain the subtext.

Yasha’s admission seemed to embolden Rosla. “You’re from the Dolorav, aren’t you?” Yasha nodded.

“My family’s not,” Rosla clarified, “but I’ve never even met anyone from Xhorhas apart from my mum and dad and uncle. I was born here.”

Between the beads and the waver in Rosla’s voice, Yasha could guess what had happened. “You must miss them,” said Yasha gently.

Rosla frowned, but like any good warrior, she didn’t show any signs of crying. Still, she was probably (and understandably) a little choked up, because she nodded by way of reply.

“I miss my aunties very much, sometimes,” Yasha offered.

Rosla stared at the ground, scuffing her shoe. Yasha thought for a dreadful moment that she might said too much, before Rosla declared, “I’m the matriarch of my clan now, you know.”

Yasha nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You wear it well.” And she did, for a child too young to have even taken the Marking.

Rosla smiled. “Thank you. My foster mum said that she doesn’t even know why we need a matriarch, ‘cause now the clan is just me and my little brother, but I knew you would understand.”

Rosla shoved her hands in her pockets, and Yasha realised this second time that Rosla shifted to a Xhorhasian pronunciation when referring to her foster mother. Black beads– the deaths were fresh, less that six months old. Brave as she appeared, the poor girl was just looking for some fucking comfort, she didn’t deserve this.

“Sounds like you and your foster mum are taking a little time to adjust to each other.”

Rosla shrugged, but she had clearly had her fill of the sad talking. “Can I have your signature?” she said.

“Do you have Molly’s signature yet?” Yasha pointed, and Rosla shook her head.

Yasha considered for a moment. “I know the point of the game is for you to meet all the leaders, but I’ve held you up long enough, and Molly has a terrible memory anyway.”

Yasha took the paper from Rosla, and initialled Molly’s square and then her own. “Don’t ask why I know how to do his handwriting,” Yasha added as she passed it back. “It’s not as cool of a story as it should be.”

Rosla nodded, and left without saying anything more.

The activity ended perhaps half an hour later. By the time Yasha made it from the boundary to the congregation by the mess hall, the campers were already well engaged in burning up their first day jitters by roughhousing and running around.

Beau seemed to have pulled more than her share of campers into a circle to play a game, with Caleb assisting nervously. She waved when she saw Yasha, before going back to directing the kids.

Jester, meanwhile, sat off to one side, clearly trying not to look too overwhelmed as she surveyed the crowd. There was a child seated either side of her, one boy and one girl, both with red lanyards. The boy had already acquired an even layer of filth across most of his body, and was engaged in a rapid fire back and forth with Jester. The girl had dark, fluffy hair and pointed, birdlike features, and she was clinging silently to Jester’s elbow.

In the time it took Yasha to get her bearings, Beau had divorced herself from the game and made her way over to Yasha. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” replied Yasha.

Beau seemed different. More mellow, more smooth, and somehow more confident. She smelled like sweat and tree sap, which was strangely intoxicating. She let her hair down and started to finger comb it as she spoke. “Give out many autographs?”

“A few. You?”

Beau dropped her hair and held out a full hand and a thumb. _Six_. “I mean, before I started descending the tree to make myself more obvious. It sort of defeats the point if most of the kids don’t even meet me.”

“Still, it’s impressive.”

Beau grinned, but shrugged modestly. She seemed sleepy too, but like someone who just woken up rather than someone who needed to go to bed.

Beau poked a thumb at the circle of kids. “Want to play with us? Caleb is getting his ass handed to him.”

“I’m not sure I know that game,” said Yasha. Beau nodded understandingly, but her posture slumped. “Maybe you can teach me later?” added Yasha quickly, “So that the first time I play I don’t get my ass handed to me.”

“Language!” Fjord hissed as he ducked past, startling a laugh out of Beau. Fjord pointed two fingers at his eyes and then to each of them. _I’m watching you_.

“Sure, I can teach you,” said Beau, waving Fjord off without looking at him. “After debrief tonight?”

“If I can stay awake,” said Yasha.

Beau was back to grinning. “I’ll try to make it entertaining.”

“Okay.”


	30. If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from I Found by Amber Run
> 
> Hi y'all!
> 
> Wow, chapter thirty and some plot as started to arrive, woo!
> 
> Also it's like 1:45am here but the Spirit was moving me, so low-proofreading warning, expect on the fly corrections in the fullness of time, you know the drill.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

If she was being honest, Jester felt a little bit extraneous for most of the Sunday morning. Jester’s head was pretty clear, but compared to the pace Beau was keeping she might as well have been swimming in treacle. Jester just did her best to stay out of the way and keep herself distracted from thinking about the message she’d been foolish enough to open.

  
**TT:** I miss you <3   
  


“Jester, this is Kiri,” said Fjord, making jerking Jester back into reality. He gestured to the small girl with fluffy black hair, who smiled and waved at Jester, and then looked back at Fjord expectantly.

Jester wasn’t sure with Kiri’s face turned away, but she thought she heard the girl started making quiet clicking noises with her tongue.

“Hi Kiri!” said Jester, shoving her phone in her pocket and putting on her best face.

Kiri looked at Jester, smiled again, and then looked away from both of them.

“Hey, Kiri?” Kiri looked at Fjord, smiled, looked away. Fjord shot Jester a look and gave a small shrug. “First day of camp can be pretty overwhelming, so I was thinking you could stay with Jester this afternoon. What do you think?”

Kiri paused, looked at Jester, smiled, and nodded. Then she went back to clicking softly.

“Sounds good,” Jester seconded.

The moment Fjord rounded the corner out of sight, Kiri pulled off her lanyard.

“No, you have to keep that on now,” said Jester. Kiri frowned. “It’s one of the rules.”

With extreme reluctance, Kiri re-donned the lanyard. “Try putting it underneath your collar,” offered Jester, “I find that helps.”

Kiri tried, but clearly didn’t find it helpful, given she immediately pulled it all the way off again. Then she frowned, and put it back on again as it had been.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Jester.

“You’ll get used to it,” said Kiri quietly. “It’s one of the rules.” Then, in a slightly gruffer but no less friendly tone, she added, “Good job.”

Jester and Kiri sat and observed things for the rest of the check-in period. Kiri seemed fascinated by the fringing on the sleeves of Jester’s shirt, and kept messing with it. She seemed more than comfortable to sit with Jester during the safety talk too, and would shush people alongside Jester. And some people Jester couldn’t hear.

“Thank you so much for your help, Kiri, but you can let me handle people who are talking, okay?” said Jester.

“I find that helps,” said Kiri, and then she starting clicking her tongue again.

Kiri stuck with Jester, even when the leaders were dismissed to take up their hiding spots. As she passed Fjord, Jester indicated Kiri and made a face that she hoped expressed the question, _Should I just keep her with me?_ He shrugged in response.

It didn’t bother Jester particularly either. Sitting with Jester wasn’t going to win Kiri the scavenger hunt, but she didn’t strike Jester as particularly competitive anyway.

Caleb intercepted the pair of them on their way out. “Jester,” he said, “who is your new friend?”

“Jester, this is Kiri,” said Kiri.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kiri. I’m Caleb.”

He took the cat from the large pocket at the front of his hoodie. Kiri’s eyes immediately lit up, and she clicked excitedly as Caleb handed the cat to her.

“His name is Frumpkin,” said Caleb.

Kiri was squeezed Frumpkin tightly. Caleb looked at Kiri seriously, gesturing to the toy. “I want you to take good care of him, okay?” Caleb held up a fist and nodded it a couple of times, sort of like he was knocking on a door. Kiri immediately freed up a hand so she could respond in kind.

Kiri then touched her fingers between her bottom lip and her chin, and brought her hand outwards. “No, thank _you_ ,” said Caleb. “It’s good to know Frumpkin will be taken care of while I’m hiding.” Then Caleb shoved his hands into the now empty pocket of his hoodie and nodded to Jester. “I had better get to my hiding place. I will get Frumpkin back at dinner, okay?”

Caleb was barely out of sight by the time Kiri had taken her lanyard off again, this time draping it around Frumpkin’s neck. Kiri held Frumpkin out to Jester. “It’s one of the rules.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” replied Jester. “He can wear it for you, as long as you’re holding him.” Kiri clicked happily, holding Frumpkin against her with one hand and continuing to play with Jester’s sleeve with the other.

Jester had stationed herself at the picnic table with sheets of paper and some crayons that clearly hadn’t seen use for perhaps a decade or more. “First, I want you to draw me an object the colour of your lanyard,” Jester told each of the campers who requested a signature.

The quality of the art skewed poor, given most of the kids were rushing through. However, Jester ended up collecting a couple of the less competitive kids, who were more interested in drawing something intricate than getting back to running around.

Kiri had separated herself from Jester a little, taking Frumpkin and some art supplies with her. Then she put her head down and started drawing, only stopping every now and then to pet Frumpkin.

A good while later, Kiri got up from her seat and tapped Jester. She held out her drawing, a still-life of Frumpkin. “I want you to take good care of him, okay?” she said in a remarkably accurate Zemnian accent.

“That’s really pretty, Kiri!” said Jester.

Kiri nodded. “That’s really pretty, Kiri.”

Then Kiri sat back down again, and started on something new.

A short time after that, The Gentleman appeared, escorting a younger boy.

“A menagerie of children for the Menagerie girl,” said The Gentleman observed, gesturing to the handful of campers. “Room for one more? I think our friend Fio might need some time to… cool down. I believe he’s on your team anyway.”

Fio scowled. He was grass-stained and dirty, which was impressive given the game had only been going on for an hour at best. The Gentleman’s hand hovered between Fio’s shoulder blades, but Fio jerked his elbow multiple times as if to knock The Gentleman away, before pulling the blow at the last minute.

“Don’t touch me,” he warned.

“I won’t,” said The Gentleman evenly.

Fio jerked one final time, and then sat down at the table as far away from everyone else as he could. He folded his arms and lay his head in them.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” said The Gentleman, and then he left.

There was a little awkwardness from the other campers, but soon enough they got back into their art.

Kiri nudged Fio. He looked up. “Jester, this is Kiri.”

Fio scrunched up his face. “My name’s not Jester, it’s Fio.”

“My name’s not Jester, it’s Fio.” Kiri nodded, and pushed some paper and crayons towards Fio. “First day of camp can be pretty overwhelming, so I was thinking you could stay with Jester this afternoon.”

Fio took Kiri’s offering. “You talk weird,” he said. He didn’t seem troubled by it, more confused.

“Stop copying me!” said Kiri, picking out a crayon.

“Exactly,” said Fio. “Do you only say things other people have said?”

Kiri was already back to being engrossed in her drawing, and gave no reply. Fio shrugged, and then picked up a crayon and started scribbling violently back and forth of the piece of paper.

“Are you doing a more abstract piece?” said Jester.

“Yep.”

Predictably, the violent scribbling soon tore up a small chunk of the paper. Fio stopped and looked at it for a moment, and then ripped it off from the edge that remained connected. This exposed a patch of white from the sheet of paper beneath, interrupted only by the stroke of colour that had torn through.

Fio looked at Jester. Jester looked back.

“Are you friends with the lady on the sign in desk?”

“Beau?” said Jester.

Fio shrugged. “I don’t know what her name was. She had lots of piercings and a green necklace.”

Jester nodded. “Yes, that’s Beau.”

Fio picked up a new crayon. “And you guys are friends?”

“Yes,” said Jester. “Is that okay?” she added when he made no reply.

Fio scribbled for a little bit, using a bit less pressure. “And she and Fjord are friends?”

“They seem like friends to me.”

Fio paused his scribbling. Then: “Okay.”

Fio didn’t say anything else for the rest of the hunt, and stayed near Jester even after the activity ended and everyone regrouped for dinner. This left Jester squashed between Fio and Kiri as she sat on the steps, neither of them willing to give up the spot beside her.

Jester saw Beau crest the hill, and scan across the growing crowd of bodies until she saw Fio. She beelined over.

“Hey, Jess,” she acknowledged.

“Hi.” Beau was all sweaty again, although Jester wasn’t entirely sure why.

Beau knelt down next to Fio. “Hey my dude, what happened? The Gentleman said you got into a scrape.”

Fio shrugged, looking away. “I dunno.”

Beau made a face that said _bullshit_ , but what she actually said was, “I don’t think that’s right.”

“Why do you care? You’re not even my leader, Jester and Fjord are.” There was an unexpected venom in his voice, but Beau didn’t seem startled.

“I don’t care. I’m just nosy.” Beau paused, tugged on her lanyard a couple of times. “You can tell when people get mad, right?”

Fio kept looking off. “Everyone can do that.”

“Can you look at me?” Fio clenched his jaw and then flicked his eyes back to Beau. Beau circled her face with her finger. “Am I mad?”

“No.”

“Even a little? Even secretly?” There was an intensity in her gaze, which Jester couldn’t parse but clearly Fio could.

“No, but you’re–” he stopped himself, “No.”

Beau pointed to Jester now. “Is Jester mad?”

“No.” Fio knocked his heel against the step. “Can you leave me alone now?”

“You’re clenching your fists,” said Beau. Jester looked down, and indeed he was. “Everything you can see when someone else is mad, you’re probably going to do the same. You can use that, so that you can notice that you’re mad before… you know.” Beau opened and closed her fist a few times. “It’s just like telling when other people are getting mad. Takes some practice, but it gets easier the more you do it.”

Fio opened and closed his fists. “Okay,” he said, looking unconvinced.

After almost a week sitting together with the rest of a Tuesday group, it was strange to be separated. Even Fjord had placed himself at the other end of the table so they could divide-and-conquer behaviour management.

Kiri had fully attached herself to Jester, or at least her sleeve, since she had been forced to return Frumpkin. “I want you to take good care of him, okay?” she said quietly, tugging on her lanyard with her other hand.

“Why don’t you ask Caleb if he’ll let you look after Frumpkin again tomorrow?” said Jester. Kiri nodded.

Teams went up one at a time, chosen by Norda based on how quiet they were being. Given the first-day jitters had not worn off quite yet, Jester’s team ended up second to last to go up. As Jester was returning with her plate, her attention was drawn to the excited but frantic conference Beau appeared to be holding with a handful of her campers.

Correction: the campers seemed excited but frantic. Beau was a paragon of ease, nodding a couple of times as she chewed, swallowing, and then saying something as she gestured to the rest of the team.

The campers dispersed, and whatever message they carried rippled quickly across the table. Meanwhile, Jester watched Beau give Caleb a pointed look, before lifting her cup off the table.

Caleb had just enough time to follow suit, looking thoroughly confused, before their team of campers started drumming rapidly on the table.

The room fell silent, heads turning to the group. In a messy sort of unison, the team stood– chairs squealing against the linoleum– and called out, “Bryce! Will you come sit with us?”

Then in another chorus of squeaking chairs, they all quickly sat down. A couple of the more nervous ones glancing at Beau, who gave them a small thumbs up.

Bryce was serving themselves a baked potato. “I’ll be over in a minute!” they called.

Beau and Caleb’s team began tittering excitedly among themselves, and gradually the other teams started to resume whatever conversations they’d been having.

“What was that?” whispered Jester as she passed behind Fjord on the way back to her seat.

“Sorry, forgot to warn you about tabletalk,” said Fjord. “Directors don’t have assigned tables, so the camp started doing it years ago to stop kids just bombarding the directors the second they come up the stairs.” Fjord gestured vaguely with his fork. “Sometimes teams will mess around and call out other things as well, tell jokes or whatever.”

“That sounds fun,” said Jester, half to herself and half to Fjord.

“It is,” said Fjord, “if we can herd these cats into formation.” He gestured to their team, the majority of whom had spilled something onto someone in the time it had taken Jester to return.

Beau and Caleb’s team were trendsetters, and the other three directors were all quickly claimed by other tables. The rest of the first dinner passed otherwise uneventfully, to Jester’s eye.

Night activity for this first day was a games night. The theme was loosely enforced, with plenty of kids clustering into small groups to chat or individuals settling into corners to read.

Jester, for the first time in hours, remembered the text. She pulled out her phone and looked at it again, but was still unable to form a coherent reply.

“Phone away,” came a whisper of Infernal, as Molly bumped Jester with his elbow.

“Sorry,” said Jester, shoving it into her pocket.

“Not texting a boy, I hope,” joked Molly. Jester must have made a face at the accusation because he lit up. “Oh, you were!”

“We shouldn’t talk too much Infernal in front of the kids,” deflected Jester.

“True,” said Molly, in Common now. “But don’t think this conversation is over. In the meantime, however, Miss Beau has sent me to gather anyone who wants to play Spoons.”

“I don’t know that one,” said Jester.

“Neither does Yasha,” said Molly, “Why don’t you keep her company watching?”

A surprising number of campers were gathered for the game, with a few of the older kids helping leaders to push tables together. “We’re going to split into to two games,” called Caleb over the crowd. He drew an imaginary line down the middle and parted the group.

Nott appear with a box of spoons, and soon two large games were coalescing, maybe twenty campers and leaders in each.

“Two decks!” called Beau from her table, gesturing to Molly to throw the decks of cards to her.

Molly, who was holding plastic tub full of cheap looking decks of cards, instantly took on a shit-eating grin. “Is that how we ask for things, Miss Beau?” he said.

Beau put on a vaguely threatening smile. “Mollymauk, may I please have two decks of cards?” she said, her diction surprisingly clear for how much she was gritting her teeth.

Molly pegged her two decks of cards. Beau caught, opened, and began to shuffle them together.

“How was your day?” whispered Yasha, as they watched Beau start to deal the cards into piles.

“Good, but I am surprisingly tired,” said Jester.

“Same,” said Yasha. “Well, I’m less surprised, because Beau apparently decided not to hold back on our run this morning.”

“She’s been very excited. It’s…” Jester chewed at her cuticle for a second. “It’s fun to watch.”

“It is fun to watch,” Yasha agreed.

“Alright!” Beau called to her players. “We are passing to the left. Hand on the card to your right. Ready? One. Two. Two-and-a-half… Two-and-three-quarters…”

“C’mon, Beau!” one of the campers whined.

Beau smirked. “Three!”

It didn’t really surprise Jester that Beau would propose a game that she was good at. It also didn’t surprise Jester that Beau started out pulling her punches.

“She saw that kid take a spoon,” Yasha whispered. “Why didn’t she take one yet?”

“I think she’s playing chicken,” replied Jester.

Sure enough, when perhaps half the spoons were gone, Beau finally slid one towards herself, continuing to pass steadily from the deck all the while. She glanced in Jester and Yasha’s direction and smiled slyly, hands still in motion.

With each elimination, the number of kids playing whittled down, the watching crowd expanded, and the speed of Beau’s passing gradually accelerated. By the final half-dozen players, the calm heartbeat of her discarding had built to the ticking of a particularly anxiety-inducing clock.

At one point, Beau even managed to deplete both her deck and the discard pile of her kid on her right. She looked over at Yasha and Jester again, drumming her fingertips against the table where the card should be.

“Very pleased with herself,” murmured Yasha, not disapprovingly.

“A lot to be pleased with,” replied Jester.

“True.”

In the twilight of the game, with only Beau and two campers left, she seemingly called a reset. The two campers played Boulder Parchment Sheers, and Beau handed the winner the deck, designating them as the new dealer.

Beau stood and wandered over to Jester and Yasha. She suddenly looked a lot less sharp, blinking slowly like she’d just come out of a dark tunnel into the light. But she looked happy and, as Jester and Yasha had agreed, that was fun to watch.

“What do you think?” said Beau.

“Of the game?” said Yasha.

Beau blinked again. “Yeah. You two going to play next time?”

“I don’t know if I have that kind of focus,” said Jester, shaking her head.

Beau rocked her spoon back and forth between her fingers. “Practice makes perfect.” Then she ran her hand through her hair, looked quickly between the two of them, and declared, “I’m going to go get ready to read.”

Yasha nodded. “I’m going to find Molly.”

“Okay,” said Jester, “see you guys later.”

Jester put her hand in her pocket, feeling the shape of her phone. She could almost feel the words burning through the screen.

  
**TT:** I miss you <3   
  
**TT:** Feel like I never get to hear from you now that you’re Empire-side. Don’t tell me that you’re going secular?!?  
  


Unable to wait any longer, Jester pulled out her phone as surreptitiously as she could and replied.

  
**Jester:** sorry, camp has been pretty crazy. I miss you too <3   
  


Even with time differences, his response was practically instantaneous.

  
**TT:** making friends?  
  


Jester bit her lip.

  
**Jester:** none you need to worry about haha  
_TT is typing..._  
  


She watched the screen as the dots danced for what felt like hours. Then:

  
**TT:** good   
  


Jester put her phone away.


	31. It Kills My Deepest Hunger As It Fills Me With Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Wish I Were Here from Next to Normal
> 
> Sup y'all, wrote this while procrastinating on just... so many things. But what else is mid-semester break for?
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the one half-decent winetasting joke I have! (And also the rest of the chapter)

“Fucking finally,” hissed Beau, after pausing for a good five seconds to check the mic was off. She snapped the book shut and threw it onto the table, successfully bumping the light in such a way that it turned off.

It wasn’t that Beau hadn’t enjoyed the first couple days of campers, or the first week and a bit as whole, but she really needed a fucking drink.

“That sounds like the catch-cry of someone ready to go out and make some good and responsible decisions,” commented The Gentleman, who was messing about with something in the side-stage area. He sounded like Dairon, or worse, Zeenoth, and it took everything in Beau not to instinctively roll her eyes at him.

“Was I supposed to have showered, or can I still do it when we get home from the bar?” asked Jester nervously. She had gotten changed while Beau was occupied reading, but had still met Beau in the shower block to keep her company while she was getting ready.

“As long as you don’t wake the kids, they generally don’t give a shit.” Beau finished colouring in her waterline. She worried briefly that it was a bit much, but if she was going to wear makeup, then it was going to be _visible_. Anyway, today’s excessive eyeliner was tomorrow’s smokey eye.

Beau wet her hair and tried to scrunch a few curls back into it. It had been much curlier when she was little, like her mom’s, but now it had settled into these loose, awkward waves that never quite held straightening. Tori used to play with the front sections of Beau’s hair sometimes, twirling them around her finger to see if she could get them to coil into ringlets. She usually could.

Thinking about her mom _and_ Tori? A drink was definitely in order.

Beau stepped away from the mirror, wiping her hands on her pants. This was as good as it was going to get. “You look nice,” said Jester, in that way that girls always said it to each other without it meaning anything.

“I know,” said Beau, before sticking out her tongue so Jester would know she was joking.

Jester looked nice too, but also like she was going to her niece’s dance recital, with a floral-patterned dress over jeans with flats.

“You’re going to bake in jeans.” Beau warned for a second time. “You can’t be mad if I say I told you so.”

“You’re going to freeze,” Jester countered, gesturing in particular to Beau’s exposed stomach and arms.

“I’ll find a way to keep myself warm.”

Before Jester could respond, there was a voice from the doorway. “Well, looks like I owe Molly his first drink,” said Nott, “It is in fact Beau who is holding us up.”

“Only because you all got a head start,” said Beau defensively. The jade necklace didn’t match the outfit, so she looped it around her wrist. “And now I’m ready, asshole.”

Unlike Nott, Molly had at least put a level of effort into his appearance that would justify bitching about Beau taking too long. “The queens of Cabin 2A grace us with their presence at last,” he said, jumping down from his perch on top of his car into a dramatic bow.

He and Beau exchanged one-finger salutes as Fjord tried to bring the group to order. “Jester, you’re designated driver for Beau’s car, yes?”

“Yep!” she said.

Beau nodded in agreement. “I’m still driving in though.”

“Alright, and Caleb, you’ve got Molly’s car?”

Molly smiled. “Couldn’t put it in safer hands. And Caleb will be driving us in, because I don’t have deep-seated control issues.”

“A charmed life you must’ve led,” snapped Beau, rolling her eyes.

Technically they’d left the campsite before their 10pm dismissal, so Team Tuesday arrived at their destination not more than twenty minutes past the hour.

“The Leaky Tap,” Beau declared to no one in particular. “As per the recommendation of one Mx. Bryce Feelid.”

The Leaky Tap was a bar in so much as bars existed in modestly sized towns in this part of the Empire. There was some local band playing in the corner, coloured lighting, and maybe thirty odd people filling the space, which wasn’t too shabby for a Monday night.

“I’m here to get a girl!” Beau declared as she entered. “I don’t care what girl, as long as she’s hot.” There was a couple of mutters from within the crowd, but Beau didn’t mind. Just the smell of alcohol in this place settled her, made her feel looser.

Beau made a beeline for the bar, trusting the others to find somewhere to sit.

“What can I get for you?” said the bartender. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with girls you can pay for.”

“Don’t worry,” said Beau, “I’ll figure something out. Do you guys do wine?”

“Sure do. Looking for something in particular?”

Beau tried not to look nervous. What the fuck did she have to be nervous about? “Do you guys have Lionett? I’ll take whatever vintage.”

Bartender shook his head. “Don’t know that one.”

Beau sighed. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“You’re with the camp, right? Gonna be coming back for a few weeks?” Beau nodded. “I can order some in, I’d just ask you to pay a fee up front for our trouble. I’m sure you understand.”

Beau leaned against the bar. “You can try, I guess. Guy who owns the winery is obstinate bastard though, never bothered to find a way to distribute it very far outside Kamordah.”

“Ah, a Kamordah wine,” said the barkeep with a nod. “Might have to get you to pay for the bottle up front too. Shit’s expensive.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Beau pulled some bills out of her wallet and passed them over. “This should cover a couple of bottles, the profit margin and the fee.”

The barkeep looked equal parts startled and excited. “One would hope.”

“Got a pen?” The barkeep nodded and passed one over, and Beau jotted some numbers down on a napkin. “Here’s a couple of people you can try if more mainstream channels of procurement fail.”

He looked a little nervous as he took the napkin and pen from her. “Is this the type of thing where I should tell them who put me on to them?”

Beau shook her head emphatically. “In this case, the opposite.”

“Alright,” he nodded solemnly. “I’ll let you know where we’re at when I see you next week, shall I?”

“Thanks.” Beau nodded in return. “In the meantime, can I start tonight off with a rum and coke?”

“Absolutely. Preferences for rum?”

“Whatever’s cheapest.”

Beau received her drink just in time for Nott to take her place, flanked by an anxious looking Caleb. Dude was actually surprisingly good with the kids, not just the quieter ones, but he still had a massive stick up his ass.

Beau returned to the table and sat. “Thanks, Beau, we’ll just go get drinks for ourselves will we?” said Molly.

With no risk of being spotted by campers, Beau finally got the pleasure of flipping him off with both hands and making retching noises. She then added, “I’ve had to be nice to you for forty-eight hours and that alone has been unbearable, so don’t like your luck on getting drinks out of me.”

“What were you writing while you were up there?” said Fjord. “Giving the bartender your number? He didn’t seem your type.”

“What is this, pick on Beauregard night? You’re all assholes.” Beau waved at the dismissively, draining a third of her glass. “Go get your drinks while Jess and I mind the table.”

The music was a little bit louder than was strictly comfortable, but it bothered Beau less and less the more she sipped on her drink. What did bother her was that Jester, the only person left at the table with her, was staring at her phone.

“Who are you texting?” said Beau.

Jester jerked her head up, sprung. “No one.”

“Weird name. Parents clearly didn’t like them.”

Disappointingly, Jester didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. “Just a friend.”

Beau sipped a bit more of her drink. Fuck, she’d nearly finished already. “You acting super cagey about this is not making me less intrigued.”

“I don’t like drunk Beau, she’s even more of an asshole,” snapped Jester.

That stung a little. “How the fuck would I be drunk? We’ve only be here fifteen minutes!”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty,” said Caleb as he sat down, instantly making Beau’s anger at her roommate fizzle out into irritation at her co-leader. He showed off a paper wristband, seemingly unfazed by the stink eye Beau was giving him. “Bryce was right, this place is great. You get free soft drinks as the designated driver.”

“Gods, of course you’d be excited about that,” said Beau, downing the last of her drink.

With flawless timing, Nott sat down next to Beau and slid her a vodka cruiser. Beau happily took it. At least _someone_ else was looking to have a fucking good night.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to mix drinks,” said Jester.

“Nah, that’s just because when people mix drinks they find it harder to judge how much they’ve had.” Beau smacked her lips together after a single mouthful. “Fuck, Nott, do you only drink paint stripper?”

“I’ll take it back if you don’t want it,” said Nott.

Beau mimed guarding her drink from Nott. “Gross,” said Caleb and Jester simultaneously.

Beau smacked her hand on the table. “We’re getting distracted. Jester, who are you texting?”

Caleb frowned. Fuck what he thought, though. Beau took another swig.

Jester put her phone face down on the table. “I’m texting The Traveler, okay? We’ve been friends since we were kids, and he’s really cool but I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“The Traveler? That’s somehow a worse nickname than The Gentleman,” said Beau.

Fjord, Molly and Yasha returned carrying beverages of choice. “Are we all behaving?” said Fjord, clearly clocking the tension Beau was creating.

“You’re not our fucking dad, Fjord,” said Beau, before taking a long sip to shut herself up. Fjord raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure Miss Beau is just cranky because she’s been here twenty minutes and not a single girl has asked her to dance,” said Molly, “despite her having made her intentions very clear upon entering.”

Molly was a total shithead, but Beau had to admit that joke eased tensions so well that she was willing to play into the excuse he had created for her. She slid down in her chair and tilted the bottle up to take an indignant swig while glaring at him. The rest of the group either laughed or smirked, but it was better to be the clown for a moment than be pissing everyone off.

To be fair, everyone was laughing at her except Yasha, who mumbled, “I thought it normally took more than twenty minutes, but Beau did make herself clear.”

Yasha wasn’t wrong, strictly speaking, but it wasn’t exactly a glowing review of Beau’s seductive abilities. “It does normally take longer,” grumbled Beau. “Molly’s just _acting like_ -” Beau threw Fjord a look “-an asshole, don’t worry about it.”

Molly sipped on his drink, grinning. Dude was always fucking grinning about something. “I do have to agree with our favourite delinquent- sorry Caleb- on this one, because I am also intrigued by this boy Jester has been texting.”

“He’s not a boy, he’s The Traveler.” Jester rolled her eyes.

“You’re saying that name in a tone that indicates that you think we should recognise it,” said Beau.

“He’s a god,” Jester said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Beau did a quick sanity check, glancing at everyone else in the group to gauge their reaction. Thankfully, they all reflected what Beau was thinking. Because yes, she was starting to feel the alcohol, and yes, the only deity she’d ever learned about in detail was Ioun, and yes, the Empire wasn’t super big on religion in the first place. But what Jester was saying was objectively off the rails, even for her.

Caleb spoke first. “You’re texting a god?”

“Yeah. I mean he’s a god, but we’re also friends, so…” Jester shrugged.

Caleb had to break the second uncomfortable silence that followed that too. “Well, I can’t say he’s one I’ve heard of. But perhaps he, uh, is not in favour with the Empire at the moment,” Caleb said, his tone something of a warning.

“Oh yeah, you guys are super weird about which gods you can worship here.”

Caleb immediately tensed, and even Nott looked a little nervous. Whatever relaxation drinking had brought Beau immediately faded too. “Jess, this probably isn’t the place to talk religion,” said Beau. True, no one was looking at them yet, or overtly listening, but getting their asses hauled in front of the local lawmaster by an off-duty member of the Crownsguard would really put a damper on the night.

“I’m just saying, there are more than the five gods you guys get to learn about,” said Jester, folding her arms.

“Six,” said Caleb.

“What?” said Jester.

“There are six approved deities.” Caleb picked at the back of his hand. “The Platinum Dragon, the Law-Bearer, the Knowing Mentor, the All-Hammer, the Dawn Father, and the Raven Queen.”

“Yeah, well, The Traveler is cooler than all of them combined, so nyeh!” Jester poked out her tongue.

Beau had just about had her fill of this. “I’m going to go get another drink.”

“You haven’t finished the one you have,” said Caleb.

Beau sculled the rest of the cruiser. “Yes, I have.”

Caleb scowled, but Beau was intoxicated enough now that something had shifted. It was just a scowl. No twitching, at least that she registered consciously.

Beau looked at Jester. She was… grumpy? Her eyebrows were doing something interesting. Furrowing.

She looked at Molly next. Smug bastard. No further data needed there.

Beau surveyed everyone else. Nott: drunk. Fjord: tired. Yasha: completely enigmatic.

Perfect. Just the affect she was after.

Beau was standing near the bar for maybe a minute, starting to run the numbers in her head on how many drinks she had left before she would be in a state that would get her fired, when a woman came up alongside her.

It took Beau a minute to realise she was being looked at, but when she did, she of course looked back. The other woman was attractive, with long, blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She seemed to be in that sweet spot age wise: just that little bit older, but not so old that the age gap was going to be the star of the show.

Beau liked being looked at, and it was clear this other woman was liking what she saw too.

“What’re you drinking?” said the woman, turning and leaning her back against the bar.

“Rum and coke, but I do enjoy whiskey when I can get it,” said Beau.

The woman smiled, gave an easy chuckle, and then waved to the bartender. _Fuck. Alright, here we go._ “Can I get a whiskey each for me and my friend?”

The woman handed Beau one of the glasses once they were poured. “You’re direct,” she said, “I like that.”

“Better to ask for you want. No one gets confused.” Beau hadn’t even touched her whiskey, but she could already feel herself wanting to go shy at the last minute. “What’s your name?”

The woman laughed. “What’s my name? Not a question I was expecting from the girl who walked in and yelled that she was _quote_ ‘here to find a girl, don’t care what girl, as long as she’s hot,’ _endquote_.”

“I’m just trying it be polite,” mumbled Beau. She felt her face heat up, but she wasn’t sure if it was drunk warm or embarrassed warm.

“You’re cute,” said the woman. Maybe one drink earlier Beau would have contested that assertion, but at this point she just took it on the chin. “I’m Vorsha.”

“Beau.”

Vorsha stepped in and ran her finger down Beau’s arm, shoulder to back of hand. Beau could feel goosebumps forming. “I’m not in town much longer, but I do have a room upstairs.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Beau.

“Good,” said Vorsha, taking Beau’s hand. The affirmation, mild as it was, and the touch filled the smallest corner of the pit insider her, and Beau allowed herself to be led upstairs.

Wine and woman were maybe the two things Beau cared about more than anything else in the world. If Beau were to play sommelier about her hour or so with Vorsha, she knew what her notes would have said.

_Nose: tobacco, aniseed, a touch of leather._

_Body: smooth and supple, round._

_Finish: both did, several times._


	32. We Don't Speak Of Names And Faces (Why Should We?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from The Party Goes With You from 35mm
> 
> Firstly, thank you so much for 300+ kudos!! Shit's wild lads
> 
> Secondly, there's Kissing in this chapter and I (much like in real life) feel very much like I don't know what I'm doing there, but I guess that's y'all's problem now
> 
> Thirdly, 1am low-proofreading warning etc. (probably can stop putting these, y'all seem to be coping fine lol)
> 
> Alright, thank you as always for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

The major drama of the night concerned working out where Beau had fucked off to.

It started with low stakes at first. “Beau was talking to that woman at the bar just a second ago, and now they’re gone,” Yasha informed Molly.

“She’s a big girl, Yash,” Molly said, tapping three fingers against her collar bone. “Not everyone is so jumpy around strangers.”

Molly was probably right. Besides, Beau was from the Empire, so her experiences with strangers here were going to completely different from Yasha’s. And if they weren’t, Beau seemed like she knew how to throw a punch and had gotten away with doing so more than once.

“Where’d Beau go?” said Jester, causing the rest of the group to look around the space curiously. At least Yasha wasn’t being embarrassingly attentive to the situation, then.

Nott turned back to the group. “Not here, obviously.”

“Thanks for the insight, detective,” said Fjord.

Molly leaned back in his seat. He did love to impart gossip. “She was talking with a girl and then disappeared, so my math says she’s got her back on a mattress somewhere upstairs,” said Molly.

“Back on a mattress?” Jester retorted immediately. “Beau doesn’t exactly strike me as a lie-back-and-think-of-Marquet type.”

“You know that’s objectively a weird thing to say about someone you’ve been working with for, like, a week, right?” said Nott.

Fjord looked at his watch. “Honestly, for all her carrying on, that was still impressively quick.”

“Can we stop talking about Beau having sex? I have to work with her and I don’t want to be thinking about…” Caleb made a face.

“Oh, we were still talking about Beau having sex,” said Yasha. Apparently Molly wasn’t the lie-back-and-think-of-Marquet type either, because _back on a mattress_ was somehow a new turn of phrase, despite his proclivity for the subject.

“I can start talking about religion again,” offered Jester, to which Molly sniggered and everyone else went slightly wider eyed.

“C’mon Jester, can you just-” Fjord began.

“Are you religious, Molly?”

Molly sipped on his drink. “There’s no atheists in the trenches.”

“Who do you worship?”

Molly looked Jester dead in the eye. “The Platinum Dragon.”

Jester cocked her head curiously in reply.

Molly poked his straw at the ice in the bottom of his glass. “Remind me some time tomorrow that I was going to read your fortune. I’ve had too many spirits to get in touch with the spirits right now, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

And that, at least, distracted Jester long enough for Fjord to steer the conversation into slightly less fraught topics. Yasha wasn’t particularly interested in talking, but gave comment here and there as everyone worked through a couple more rounds of drinks and aired grievances and anxieties about the tasks ahead with the campers. It was nice to know that, for once, Yasha had companionship in her nervousness.

Nott was drinking more than her share, although admittedly Yasha didn’t really notice until Nott and Caleb began to butt heads over it.

“You’ve had enough,” Caleb repeated, not touching her but putting his hand in her way in an attempt to stop her from returning to the bar.

Nott scratched at the back of her hand, but as she opened her mouth to retort, Fjord jumped in. “Maybe we should call it a night. Don’t want to overdo it our first day off.” Like Yasha, he wasn’t sober, but definitely still had his wits about him.

“Beau’s still not back,” Jester pointed out.

Nott was scratching quite aggressively at the back of her hand now. “I’ll go find her,” said Yasha. “Caleb, you can take Nott and Molly home. Fjord, you can wait with Jester and then she can drive all of us.”

“Alright, Miss Yasha taking control of the situation! Yes ma’am.” Molly stood and began to make motions to coax Nott and Caleb towards him. Yasha could swear Nott started growling in response.

“I appreciate the support, Mollymauk,” said Yasha, “but you can dial down the enthusiasm?”

“Can’t and I shan’t,” said Molly, kissing Yasha on the cheek as she stood.

“Jester, can you text me when you are all leaving?” Yasha heard Caleb say as she left the table and began following the signs that indicated the guest rooms attached to the bar.

Yasha followed the signs up the flight of stairs to a short hallway with either side lined with doors. She frowned, realising that she had no way of knowing which room Beau was in. Yasha didn’t exactly feel comfortable knocking on every door until she found her.

Then, Yasha spotted a blue ribbon tied around the handle of one of the doors.

It was as good a hint as any.

Yasha knocked on the door, and stood back as it was opened not long after.

In the doorway was a woman who seemed to have just wrapped a light robe, not unlike one Molly would own. She leaned against the doorframe in a way the blocked most of the view into the room.

“Can I help you?” said the woman.

Yasha realised she hadn’t exactly planned what she was going to say after knocking on the door. But she was saved, for a short while as least, by a voice from within the room. It spoke flirtatiously in a language Yasha couldn’t parse, so it took Yasha a moment to place it.

The woman turned to give a reply in what seemed to be the same tongue, allowing Yasha to see into the space. It looked like a room in any small hotel of middling quality. Every surface seemed visibly clean and a little bit sun bleached. Carpet needed replacing, a new coat of paint was needed on at least the feature wall, and someone needed to dust the light fixtures before the weight of the debris caught in them pulled them from the wall, but overall it seemed habitable.

Beau was laying on the bed, crop-top and underwear only. _Back on the mattress._ _Noted._

Beau waved at Yasha in a manner that somehow seemed extremely drunken and very casual.

“Looks like my ride’s here,” Beau said to the woman, in Common now. “Hi, Yash.”

The woman frowned. “This your girlfriend or something?”

“No.” Beau… _pouted_ was the only way Yasha could really describe it. She half-rolled off the bed and started searching around for something on the floor. Presumably the rest of her clothes. “Why, jealous already?”

The woman didn’t seem particularly endeared by the question. “I’m moderately worried by the fact that she could probably snap me like a toothpick.”

Yasha looked between Beau, who was buttoning her pants now, and the woman. “I probably could, yes,” said Yasha. “So I guess it’s fortunate for you that I’m not.” She was unsure if that was a helpful comment, but she was just tipsy enough that she decided not to worry too much about that.

Beau ran her fingers through her hair, shaking it out, as she walk across the room to join them in the doorway. “Yasha and I work together, and I’m sure there would be no toothpick-snapping if I asked for there not to be.”

Beau smiled, and for a moment Yasha might well have agreed to just about any request.

Then Beau turned the same smile onto the robed woman. “Thanks, I had a good time.”

“Likewise.” The woman nodded. Yasha stepped aside so that Beau could move out into the hallway, and then the woman closed the door.

Beau began to fumble with the ribbon on the handle. She didn’t seem to have lost all dexterity, despite clearly being even more intoxicated than when she’d left them, and Yasha figured it would be more productive to just let Beau take her time with the knot.

“Did you, uh, have fun?” said Yasha.

Beau made a noncommittal gesture. “Not a top ten or anything.” Her enunciation was somehow better now that she was drunk. Maybe it was just because she was trying. “But it was good, got what we came for. Yes!” Beau was a little too loud as she whipped the ribbon away victoriously, so she immediately covered her mouth and began down the hall.

Despite being a little unsteady on her feet, Yasha still had to jog a little to catch her. “The ribbon was helpful. That’s smart thinking.”

“Not just a pretty face,” said Beau, grinning again. “I’ve worked out some systems over time.”

“This is a regular thing for you?”

Beau shrugged. “Regular enough. That a problem?”

“Why would that be a problem?”

Beau simmered down, but still seemed guarded. “Okay, but don’t try to tell me you haven’t had sex with a stranger in a cut-rate hotel room before.”

“Not with a stranger, no.”

Hotels in out the way towns were all the same, in the end, be it in the plains of the Dwendalian Empire or the heart of the Iothia Moorlands. Threadbare carpets, dusty light fixtures, and an owner-manager who didn’t even bother asking Yasha to lie about being old enough to rent a room for themselves.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Zuala had said.

“I do want to,” said Yasha. “Do you?”

Zuala looked a little embarrassed. “Yes. But we still don’t have to.”

Yasha sat on the bed, and sighed heavily enough that she could have been shrugging off a cloak. Then she smiled softly at Zuala. “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do after this.”

Zuala returned the same smile. “Me neither.”

“It’s just sort of cut to black when Auntie Brisri talks about it.” Yasha gestured a TV screen wiping to black. “And then you get in the bed together, and then you mate.”

“Yeah.” Zuala picked at the carpet with her big and second toe.

“Does it scare you?”

Zuala’s eyes widened with seriousness. “With you? Never.”

“But with him?” Yasha clarified.

Zuala shrugged. “I don’t know. I mostly try not to think about it.”

“Me too.” Yasha crossed her legs and began untying her shoe. “Your mate should be at least a little nervous, I think.”

“Why?” said Zuala.

Yasha tossed her shoes into the corner of the room where Zuala had left her sandals. “It’s unfair otherwise, given you still make me this nervous.”

Zuala smiled. “That’s true. Your mate should be having to work twice as hard at everything he does for you, because I’ll bet he’s not half as pretty as me.”

“He couldn’t possibly be.” Yasha said it like she was teasing, but they both knew that she meant it.

They paused. “Should I take my shirt off?” said Zuala eventually.

“I really don’t know, but I would enjoy it, so if you like…”

Zuala took her shirt off and, indeed, it was enjoyable. Then, without warning, she rushed towards the bed and pushed Yasha back. She jumped on top of Yasha, knees either side of Yasha’s hips, loosely pinning her wrists.

“Ha! Got you!”

Yasha laughed, and used what contact her feet had left with the floor to twist and leverage Zuala into a reversal: wrists pinned, knees either side of the hips, Yasha letting her hair brush a little against Zuala’s cheek.

“Not fair,” Zuala complained, almost as loudly as the bedsprings. “You’ve always been stronger than me.”

Yasha kissed her. Zuala pecked her lips in return, still looking a little miffed. “You should take something off now.”

Yasha released Zuala’s wrists and took off her shirt. “Better?”

“Much,” Zuala conceded.

Yasha kissed her again, and this time Zuala actually kissed her back. That was familiar, the texture of her skin and the taste of blackberries and the smell of the still-damp hair in Zuala’s freshly washed braids. Yasha felt a little more centred, remembered a little more why they had wanted to do this in the first place.

“What kind of shirts do you want to wear this week?” said Yasha. She was sensitive about asking if and when Zuala would like hickeys, ever since the first time when Zuala had laughed until she cried based on how ‘jarringly unsexy’ that word was to drop in the middle of making out.

“Do it wherever.” Zuala laced her fingers through the hair near Yasha’a temple. “What can the aunties say that they haven’t said already, hmm?”

“I don’t want them to move us onto separate chores again,” said Yasha quietly.

“You miss me when they split us up,” Zuala teased.

“Of course I do.”

“It doesn’t stop us though, does it?” Zuala let go of Yasha’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Auntie Ekra is always talking about how it’s _natural for the girls to want to experiment_. I don’t know why she lets the others be such bitches about it.”

“Ekra only says that because she thinks it goes away once all the _experimenting_ is out of your system, but she was wrong about that.” Yasha looked away. “Or maybe when we marry, I suppose.”

“I’m not going to marry,” said Zuala. “I’m going to slip out of my window the night before my wedding and run away.”

“Run into the badlands and immediately break your foot?”

“That was one time!” Zuala smacked Yasha’s bicep. “We can’t all be agile, some of us are working with just brute force.”

“I though you said just before that I had always been stronger than you?”

“Now you’re just being mean,” said Zuala, putting on a face.

Yasha leaned down, hovering above the perfect spot on Zuala’s collarbone. “I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

Yasha looked at Beau, who had been quietly wrapping and unwrapping the ribbon around her finger as they walked to the car. “You’ve got…” Yasha touched her own neck to indicate.

Beau mirrored, touching her own neck. “Shit.” She looked annoyed, but given the wide spectrum of angers Yasha had seen in the short time she had known Beau, it came across as fairly muted. “Hope it fades by the time we take the kids swimming, because I have not invested in a quality concealer.”

Then she went back to wrapping and unwrapping the ribbon.

“Oh hey, you guys didn’t get murdered!” said Fjord when they arrived at the car. He pointed to Yasha. “Still a contender for our final girl.”

“Don’t think you can provoke me just because I’m drunk,” said Beau.

“How much have you had to drink?” said Jester.

Beau frowned, wrapping and unwrapping. It was sort of mesmerising to watch. “Nott’s drink had 1.6 on the label, rum is 40% and it was like 50, the whiskey was 46% and I had... and then multiply by 0.8 to eyeball it… about six standard drinks, maybe? Seven?” Beau shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely keeping track of the whiskey, and that one creeps up on you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m more disturbed by the fact that you knew how to run those numbers off the top of your head, or that you could do it after at least six standard drinks in a short evening,” said Fjord.

“My family owns a vineyard, asshole. Of course I can do fucking ABV calculations.”

“And how were we supposed to know that, asshole?” replied Fjord, adding a good-natured poke in the ribs for emphasis.

Beau patted his hand away and did a terrible job of pretending to still be angry. “If Jester’s driving, can I sit in the back with Yasha?”

“Of course you can,” said Yasha. “I’m not carrying you anywhere tonight, though.”

Beau definitely pouted at that.


	33. Look Who Makes Their Own Bed, Lies Right Down Within It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Icarus by Bastille
> 
> it's again, nerds :D
> 
> also tw: for a dude being a bastard to Marion for a hot minute
> 
> Enjoy!

Jester couldn’t drink on her medication. If anyone asked, the answer was simple as that. Her meds sped up the central nervous system activity, alcohol slowed it down. It wasn’t as simple as a cancellation effect, but that explanation was normally enough to get people off her case.

But it was nice, in a way, that no one even asked her or Caleb why they were volunteering to drive.

Her usual excuse, of course, ignored the fact that her medication had a window, and outside that window moderate drinking was probably fine. Certainly, none of her doctors seemed concerned about it.

In truth, there was a lot of things she didn’t like about alcohol. Jester knew her palate wasn’t exactly refined- she was still cringed a little thinking about the time she’d asked Beau to avoid the tomato when making her plate- but most of the time Jester couldn’t even get past the taste and the texture of drinks. No matter what she mixed it with, how diluted it was, all she could taste was acetone. It was like her body knew it was a poison, and prioritised alerting her of that fact above any other sensory feedback.

There were the practical drawbacks as well. What was the point of something making you feel good if it also stopped you being able to draw properly? Also, since coming to the Empire Jester had enough problems with her accent being understood that she wasn’t exactly keen to add to it.

There was also just something unsettling about the way it made people act. Jester liked to cut loose a much as the next girl, but she didn’t understand why people couldn’t, you know, just do that. Jester appreciated chaos, but a controlled chaos. Fun, purposeful chaos.

Jester still remembered witnessing the commotion out in her mother’s room one night.

There was the crashing noise, which sent Jester to the door to peak through the slats at the scene. A man of a slightly wider build and expensive looking clothes, his body swaying like waves upon the shore. A statue, knocked from its place and now broken onto the floor. Mama, sitting on her bed in negligee, the only betrayal of her displeasure being the way she had raised the toes of her crossed leg.

Mama was ever the diplomat. “Why don’t you come back another night, when we can both enjoy this more?”

There was a guttural sigh from the man. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Marion.” His words bled together like watercolours.

“And you are very kind,” said Mama. “Bluud, if could come help this gentleman arrange a better time to come see me?”

Bluud was there in an instant, putting himself between Mama and the man. The man was not pleased by this. “I paid to see you now, whore, so I’ll see you now.”

Mama blinked slowly. “On second thoughts, it doesn’t sound like this in going to be the arrangement you wanted. I’ll have you struck from the books so that there’s no confusion.”

The man spewed another string of profanities. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” said Bluud in his low growl, before he escorted the man not so gently from the room.

“He certainly won’t be kissing me with it,” said Mama, once the door was closed.

Jester had burst from her room and run over to her mother. “Mama! Are you okay?”

Mama looked surprised, but took Jester in her arms. “My little sapphire, you should be asleep.” Jester buried her her face into Mama, and Mama began to stroke her hair soothingly. “Of course I’m okay, Bluud is very good at his job.”

Jester allowed herself a minute or so to calm down before she asked, “Why was that man being so rude?”

Mama thought for a moment. “I think he may have had a little bit too much whiskey before he arrived. Perhaps he was just trying to be a little less nervous, but that much would effect his performance and that’s no fun for either of us.” Mama stopped and rubbed Jester’s back a couple of times for emphasis. “The rest of it is just him having a bad attitude, whiskey or no.”

Mama stood, and Jester wrapped her legs around Mama’s waist to help support her own weight. They went to Jester’s bedroom. Mama flicked on the fairy lights as they entered, given that they didn’t have company now, before settling with Jester on the bed. “Best not to dwell on these things, alright, my sapphire?” Mama said, tweaking her nose. “No harm done.”

Not that Jester saw a lot of people generally, Beau was more drunk than Jester had seen a person in a long time. Jester could tell, even from a distance as she and Yasha approached.

Fjord apparently could too. “Here comes trouble,” he said. It was half joke, half concern.

“Everyone’s favourite delinquent,” said Jester.

“Oh hey, you guys didn’t get murdered!” said Fjord once the two of them were close enough. He opted to ignore the marks on Beau’s neck or her constant fidgeting, instead indicating Yasha. “Still a contender for our final girl.”

“Don’t think you can provoke me just because I’m drunk,” said Beau. Her diction was artificially crisp.

“How much have you had to drink?” Jester couldn’t help but blurt out. It was all so strange to see.

Beau looked troubled for a moment and then began to reel off numbers in a way that made Jester’s eyes briefly glaze over. All that she ended up retaining was the final figure of six or seven standard drinks, which felt about right. Objectively it was too high, but it still seemed like an amount a regular drinker could consume and still walk, abet unsteadily. At least, as far as Jester was aware.

“I’m not sure if I’m more disturbed by the fact that you knew how to run those numbers off the top of your head, or that you could do it after at least six standard drinks in a short evening,” said Fjord. He had a point.

Beau scowled, the way she always seemed to when challenged. “My family owns a vineyard, asshole.” That was news. “Of course I can do fucking ABV calculations.” Jester had to assume Beau was referring to the flurry of numbers and the flicking of eyes that indicated the mental arithmetic she took to get to that vague _six or seven_ number, whatever the process actually was.

“And how were we supposed to know that, asshole?” replied Fjord, presumably referring more to the vineyard comment than Beau’s practice with sums. He poked Beau in the ribs, and she didn’t even move to stop him. If anything, she briefly leaned into it, although that could have just been part of her drunken sway.

Beau scanned across the group. “If Jester’s driving, can I sit in the back with Yasha?”

“Of course you can,” said Yasha. “I’m not carrying you anywhere tonight, though.”

Jester didn’t mind the idea of Fjord sitting in the passenger seat next to her. In more ways than one it was less messy and complicated than having to keep an eye on Beau for the whole drive. But still she felt that jealous gnaw for a split second. Too quick for her to discern the exact root or even which of the two it was directed at.

To say Jester didn’t keep an eye on Beau while she drove was not strictly true. She glanced back regularly throughout the drive. It was mostly the same: Both Beau and Yasha half asleep. Beau taking up at disproportionate amount of the back seat compared to Yasha, who was politely keeping to herself as Beau’s arms flopped a little with every bump in the road.

Beau only caught Jester once. “I’m behaving!” she said, holding up her hands, immediately on the defence.

“Good,” Fjord answered on Jester’s behalf. Beau slid down so she could kick the back of his seat. She had reputation to maintain, after all.

Caleb was waiting for them in the carpark, staring at his phone anxiously. His frame visibly relaxed when the car pulled in.

“Sorry, I forgot to text you,” said Jester. She wanted to blame the meds wearing off, or her tiredness, but that was overridden by wanting to ease Caleb’s distress.

Caleb put his phone in his pocket. He had clearly showered and dressed for bed when he’d arrived back at the camp, and then made his way up here when the rest of the group still weren’t back. “It’s okay. As Nott says, I am sometimes a little highly strung.”

“Is she okay?” said Yasha.

Caleb shrugged. “As much as she always is. If you have any luck working out what triggers this sort of thing in her, please let me know at your earliest convenience.”

“Don’t pick on Nott, she just likes to have fun,” said Beau. There was an awkward pause, and then in the quietest possible voice she added, “Thanks for waiting up for us.”

“Yes, well, the kids clearly like you more than me. Best you didn’t go missing.”

Beau rubbed her eye, smearing the remaining makeup a bit wider. “They don’t like me more, they just think they do, you know?”

“I don’t,” said Caleb gently. “That doesn’t make sense.” Jester was inclined to agree.

Beau looked a little frustrated, but just waved him off and otherwise failed to elaborate further.

“I think we should all get some sleep,” Fjord announced, probably keen to quit while they were all very much ahead.

Beau collapsed onto her bed the second they entered the cabin. “I need to take a shower. I feel gross.”

“Okay,” said Jester.

Jester chilled for a couple of minutes, jotting some things in her sketchbook for The Traveler. When she looked over to find Beau in the same position, she asked, “Were you going to do anything about that shower?”

“I’m working up to it,” said Beau.

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” said Jester. “You might want to work a little faster.”

“I need to take a shower,” Beau repeated.

Jester closed her book. It was clearly up to her to expedite the process. “Where are your toiletries?”

“Bag on the dresser.”

Jester collected it. “What else do you need for showers?”

“I’ve spent enough time lying on a bed and being bossed around for one night, thanks,” said Beau.

“What else?” Jester repeated, ignoring her.

“Towel is on the rack,” said Beau, rolling her eyes. She picked at some of the pilling on her sheets.

Jester retrieved it. “I assume you’re going to pitch a fit if I pick clothes for you, so why don’t you do that yourself.”

“Nope, I don’t care anymore.” Beau flung her arms wide. “I’m a fucking doll. Dress me how you want, who gives a shit?”

“Kids are asleep next door,” reminded Jester. Beau was still whispering, but she had been ramping up in volume, and the profanity probably wasn’t a good look either

Thinking of the campers apparently shook some of the cobwebs and irritability out of Beau’s brain. “Sorry guys,” she hissed. She stood and started to rummage through the drawers.

“Okay, I got them.” Beau tucked her clothes under one arm, and gestured for the things Jester had gathered to take in the other.

“You can carry them,” said Jester, “but I’m coming with you. I have to brush my teeth anyway.” She held up a hand before Beau could object.

“You keep it then,” Beau sulked.

Beau took her sweet time in the showers. After brushing her teeth, Jester nestled herself on the bench in the corner, half-dozing as she waited. She jerked awake when Beau spoke, although it was not so much to Jester as to herself.

“Should have asked Dee to do my hair before I left.” She ran her fingers through her undercut. “I’m probably going to have to get it cut twice this camp.”

“Feel better?” said Jester, stretching her legs out.

“Almost human,” Beau replied. “And before you give me shit, I brushed my teeth in the shower.” Beau started picking at the mascara on her eyelashes, and then stopped. “Why are you staring at me?”

“My meds have worn off and you’re the least boring thing in this room,” Jester said truthfully.

Beau snorted, taking a makeup wipe to whatever hadn’t come off in the shower. “I’m just the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen,” she said. If her tone hadn’t been so mocking, Jester might have agreed. “Belle of the fucking ball.”

“Is this your regular mad-at-the-world, or have I done something?” said Jester.

Beau frowned mid-swipe. “I’m not mad.”

Jester pointed to the closed fist Beau had resting against the sink. “Take your own advice.”

Beau looked down at her hand, opened and closed it a couple of times. “I have no reason to be mad.”

“That’s a different statement,” said Jester. “And for the record, you did look good tonight. And clearly that woman you went off with thought so too.”

Beau made a dismissive noise.

“I think Yasha thought so too,” Jester added for good measure.

“Yasha doesn’t give a shit,” Beau said, but Jester could see in the mirror that it had already brought a smile to her face.

Beau pulled her hair back experimentally, into a bun a bit lower than her usual. The shorter part of her hair fell from her grip when she twisted it around, but she was too intrigued with her reflection to worry about that. “Is it weird that I want to drunk dial my mom?” she said.

“I guess it depends what you mean by drunk dial,” Jester said.

“I dunno, I just miss her. Want to hear her voice.” Beau let all her hair fall from her hand now.

“I don’t think that’s weird,” said Jester. “I miss my mama a lot.”

Beau turned to Jester. “Does she still live in Nicodranas?”

Beau looked serious, and Jester wasn’t sure where she was going with this line of questioning. “Yes.”

“Has she been to visit you?” Beau looked back into the mirror.

“No, she doesn’t like travelling.”

Beau nodded solemnly. “Have you been back to see her?”

“No,” Jester did her best to seem nonchalant. “I can’t really go back to Nicodranas at the moment.”

“Why not?” said Beau.

“Not safe. I upset someone. A guy who was seeing Mama.”

“So badly that you can’t go back?” Beau looked shocked, which was sweet that she thought so well of Jester.

Jester hugged her knees back into herself. “It’s not like I can’t _ever_ go back. We just thought it might be better for me to come to the Empire to study, you know?”

Beau looked worried by the change in Jester’s body language. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” said Jester. “I don’t want to make this about me. We were talking about your mom.”

“Mine’s not as tragic as all that,” said Beau, shaking her head. “I just miss her.”

“It’s not a competition,” said Jester.

Beau gave a halting laugh, and then blinked rapidly a couple of times. “I guess not.”

Jester uncurled, gesturing for Beau to come over. When Beau hesitated, Jester took as light a tone as she could and said, “Beau, we know that I’m all about enthusiastic consent, but don’t tell me that you’re going to have sex with a stranger but deny a hug when you clearly need one.”

Arm sufficiently twisted, Beau trudged over and sat beside Jester. Jester put her arm around Beau and, to her surprise, Beau leaned into her shoulder.

Much like with the shower, Beau took her time to speak. “I can’t go back to Kamordah,” she said eventually, her voice gravelly, “because if I go back then I might never get another chance to leave again.” She made no effort to wipe at her eyes, perhaps hoping that she could will her tears out of existence. “I didn’t want to keep the books at the winery for the rest of my life, you know?”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” confirmed Jester.

Beau stared into the middle distance for a few moments, and then pulled away. “I’m just– I’m drunk, I’m being stupid, I’m sorry.” She rubbed her face vigorously.

“Hey,” said Jester. That stopped Beau’s flailing, at least. “It’s pretty fucked up that this is the first thing I’ve heard you apologise for since we met.”

Beau met Jester’s gaze nervously, her eyes still misty and threatening a storm. Jester rummaged around in her pocket until she found what she was looking for. “Lollipop?” When Beau took too long to reply, Jester tapped her on the nose with it. “Beau?”

Beau blinked a couple of times. “What good behaviour is this rewarding? The emotional vulnerability?”

At least she was back to being snarky.

Jester shrugged. “I was just offering.” Beau gave a small shake of the head, so Jester pocketed it.

Then Beau stood. “We should get to bed.” She went over and collected her things from the sink, not looking back.

Jester stood, stretched out a little as she gathered her resolve. _Who cares what it does or doesn’t mean in the Empire?_ When Beau turned to look at her, Jester held out her hand.

And in what, judging by Beau’s expression, was surprise to both of them, Beau took it.


	34. Baby Needs Some Protection, But I'm A Kid Like Everyone Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Hero by Family of the Year
> 
> What is UP my dudes how is it HANGING it's YAH GIRL
> 
> I honestly thought it had been way longer than a month since I last updated, because this past month has had everything. We've got signing contracts, we've got courting and acquiring an Honours supervisor, we've got putting on a whole-ass theatre festival, we've got somehow not crying in my course coordinator's office while I telling him I'm terrified about not passing my final maths subject I need to graduate, we've got one set of friends awkwardly trying to set me up with Girl Who Also Plays DnD while another set is awkwardly trying to set me up with Girl Who Is In Chior With My Soon-To-Be-Roommate, we've got my favourite artist of all time putting out a whole-ass album containing A Surprising Number Of Songs That Went Straight Onto The Beau Playlist, we've got my boss sending me deeply incomprehensible notes on my script, we've got me falling three episodes behind on CR, etc.  
> Professional success! A surprisingly low amount of personal failure! I will probably still not be posting another update for a couple more weeks because that thing about nearly crying in my course coordinator's office is only sort of a goof and the exam for that subject is on Wednesday!
> 
> In other news, re-readers (if there are any) may have noticed that the formatting for text messages in the fic have changed slightly. This because I decided to decompress by sinking an afternoon into weaving some fresh and cool CSS magic to make them like text messages when the creator's style is on.  
> Did I need to do that? Absolutely not. Did it make me feel better? Sure did.
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all are keeping well, taking care of yourselves (especially with the wild past few days), and that you enjoy!

Beau hated being sick, but there was one silver lining: Daddy was suddenly interested in how she was doing, and she was rarely out of his sight, even when she was sleeping.

Right now, Beau was sitting in his lap on her bed, her ear against his shoulder. He supported her with that same arm, with the back of her head resting against his bicep and his fingers running through the hair near her temples. His other hand rubbed gently at her stomach, leaving her boxed in on all sides. Contained. Safe.

Apart from feeling awful, Beau could tell something was wrong because Daddy hadn’t said anything about her chewing on her sleeve for comfort. She didn’t push her luck by forgetting to remove it from her mouth when she was talking, though.

“Feel sick,” she said, as her stomach turned again.

“I know baby. You didn’t even want dinner, that’s not like you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let me know if you think you’re going to throw up?”

Beau nodded.

“Is that yes you’ll tell me, or yes you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“Tell you.”

“Good girl,” he said, concern briefly giving way to warmth. “You know whenever anything’s wrong, you tell Daddy and Momma and we’ll do our best to fix it.”

Beau nodded. Even though her mouth and throat were raw and dry, she could feel the already thinned cuff of her sleeve was soaked through.

Daddy tilted his head down to look at her directly. “Want some ice to chew, baby?” Beau shook her head. She already felt cold and shivery. “Just gonna chew on your clothes? Pretend to be a moth?”

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

“It’s a good thing I love you, little moth.” He kissed her forehead now. Every time he kissed her, he got distracted from rubbing her stomach and it would start to hurt again, so she whimpered. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I not be loving you?”

Beau frowned and shook her head. “Hurts.”

“Oh, I see. My bad, baby.” Clearly misunderstanding, he lightly brushed the spot he’d just kissed.

There was a pause while Beau chewed and reached for something more to contribute. “Moths in the cellar are pretty.”

“They are, just like you!” He kissed the top of her head. “And when you come help me in the cellar, you’re the prettiest moth there.”

“Is this one a good vintage?” said Beau, remembering helping carry things around for the tasting that had started… was it yesterday or a few days ago?

“Pretty good. Not as good as my favourite, though.”

“My vintage?” Beau said hopefully.

“That’s right!” The combination of praise by association and Daddy’s excitement made Beau grin around her mouthful of sleeve. “Hang on,” he said, gently moving her hand. “There’s that pretty smile, hmm?”

It was nice, the way he was looking at her and comforting her. But when pain stabbed at her throat only a few seconds later, Beau won the battle but lost the war, keeping the smile but returning the sleeve to her mouth with a small whine. She knew it would probably make him mad, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Her instinct was right. Daddy’s face darkened. He sighed, then stood and deposited Beau down in the bed where they’d been sitting. “Where are you going?” said Beau.

“To get some ice,” he said flatly. “Try not to destroy your shirt while I’m gone.”

And then he left, and Beau was alone in her bed.

Beau opened her eyes and had that sluggish moment of disorientation as she tried to sort what was real and what had been part of the dream. Her mouth was dry and tasted like shit, and her stomach was sore. That was definitely real. But as her brain whirred to life she remembered that she was in her bed, in her cabin, after a night out, and she was safe. She was well.

“You’re awake,” said Jester.

Beau rolled over to look at her. “Barely. What time is it?”

“Around ten.” Jester looked back down at whatever she’d been working on in her journal.

“Hey, that’s not actually too bad for me.” Especially given she was hungover (clearly having Dairon on her ass so much this past semester had left her out of form).

Jester tapped a pencil against her lips. “You still gonna run?”

“Fuck no, it’s my day off.”

Beau was expecting at least a smile, but instead she got a head tilt. “Did you have a weird dream?”

Thanks to said stupid fucking dream, Beau felt herself primed and ready to stick a knuckle in her mouth to silence herself. Instead she gripped the bedsheet on the side Jester couldn’t see. “No? Why?”

Jester looked away and started drawing again. “Alcohol makes dreams seem more vivid because it interrupts REM sleep, so you’re more likely to remember the dream you were having.”

“Fun psychology fact,” said Beau.

“Also you were crying,” Jester said, still not looking up.

The taste in Beau’s somehow grew more sour. “Swear to the gods I’m allergic to every plant out here,” Beau said, probably unconvincingly.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Jester paused again. “Do you remember last night?”

“Of course I do.” Blackout hadn’t been her style in a long time. It wasn’t worth the risk when there was no one she could guarantee had her back.

Better to have ten minutes of oblivion from doing stupid shit with the kids.

“Did you dream about your mom?” said Jester. Beau had to admit, even as the question made every alarm inside Beau blare, that she wished she had the same balls as Jester to even be able to ask a someone something like that.

“It’s too early for this. Let’s talk about something else,” said Beau, stretching herself out as much as she comfortably could.

The headache was largely resolved by downing almost a full bottle of water. The tenderness in her stomach seemed to be a combination of muscle soreness and some unrelated nausea. Beau hoped it was just the drinking and not that the kids had given her some sort of bug. Either way, Dairon probably would have prescribed qigong, but Beau really wasn’t in the mood, so she opted just to put up and shut up, sipping on the remaining dregs of her water.

“We’re going to a café in town for brunch, if you want to come,” offered Jester.

“Who’s we?”

“Rest of the Tuesday leaders,” said Jester. “We made a group text while you were off having fun last night.”

Beau tried to identify exactly how that information made her feel, but Jester interrupted before she could fully decide. “What’s your number? I’ll add you in.”

It took a few minutes for Beau to finally escape to the shower block, waving off Jester’s reminders that Beau had showered not eight hours ago. Really, she just needed some time alone and unmonitored to pull herself together. To shake _him_ out of her head– a place he had no fucking right to be– without worrying about worrying others.

Things were never that simple, of course. Beau was so close to freedom, practically through the doorway into the leaders’ showers, when she felt a light tap on her elbow.

“Miss Beau?”

Beau turned around. It was one of her campers, at least, so that softened her a little. 

“Hey, Rosla. It’s still just Beau.” Rosla bit her lip, nodding, although Beau knew the reminder was unlikely to stick. Rosla seemed not to take Caleb seriously at all– that was a common theme across the whole team– but she seemed almost reverent towards Beau. Which was good for the ego, but honestly made Beau nervous in return. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Miss Yasha is?”

“I don’t know sorry, and it’s her day off, so is it something that can wait?” Rosla chewed on her lip. “Or something I can help with?”

“It’s your day off too.” It figured that Rosla wanted to talk to Yasha, because Beau had some of the same difficulties reading her. Rosla seem… confused? And anxious.

Beau shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m not doing anything in particular.”

Rosla swallowed. “I’d really prefer to talk to Miss Yasha about it.”

“That’s okay too,” Beau said. “I’ll let her know if I see her. You going to be okay until then?”

Rosla nodded vigorously. “Yes ma’am.”

Beau wasn’t sure that she fully kept herself from cringing. “‘Ma’am’? That’s somehow worse than Miss Beau.”

Rosla had laced her hands through her wet hair, and was tugging at it. “Sorry,” she said, and then turned awkwardly to leave.

“Rosla?”

She turned back. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

For some reason the expression that provoked was crystal clear. Embarrassment. “You worry too much,” said Rosla.

“No I don’t. I’m super cool,” Beau deadpanned.

“Uh huh.” Rosla gave a tiny smile. Bingo.

Beau leaned against the doorway. “Can you say it? Just need to hear it.”

Rosla rolled her eyes. “You’re super cool, Beau.”

Beau held her hand over her heart, made a face of a pleasant surprise. “Thank you, Rosla, that’s very kind of you.” Beau waved her hand in dismissal. “Alright, have a good day. You and the rest of the Bears try not to miss me and Caleb too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

Beau held up a finger. “But miss us a little.”

“Okay.” Rosla rolled her eyes again.

Now that she was finally in the shower block, Beau wasn’t even entirely sure that she wanted to shower. Maybe Jester had a point after all. It just felt like a lot of work for no result.

Instead of showering, Beau succumbed to the desire to lie down on the still-cool concrete, cover her face with a towel and just rest her brain.

“I’ll be back in a couple of months. Try not to miss me too much.”

Dairon had probably meant it half as a joke, trying to keep the mood light. She didn’t exactly walk on eggshells around Beau or anything, but she was cautious. Took no pleasure in provoking.

The same could not be said for Beau. “Not a problem,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Dairon apparently wasn’t fooled. “Beauregard…” Dairon placed a hand firmly on each of Beau’s cheeks, facing Beau towards herself. Still, Beau deliberately averted her gaze, causing Dairon to repeat. “ _Beauregard_.”

“I’m going to be late for class.” Beau didn’t pull away, but she curled her lip contemptuously.

“I’ll write you a late note. Look at me.” There was a silent struggle that Beau knew she couldn’t win. She flicked her eyes back on to Dairon, raised her eyebrow in irritated question. “I know you’re angry,” Dairon said.

Beau folded her arms. “I’m not. I just want you to not be late for your car and me not to be late to class.”

Dairon’s thumbs were against the hinge of Beau’s jaw, reminiscent of some attempt to ease the source of one of Beau’s migraines. “I’m going to miss you too,” Dairon said, doing that thing where she pretended Beau was actually saying something nice when she had just put all her effort into being insufferable. It was infuriating.

“I hate you,” said Beau, with as much bile as she could muster.

“Thank you for letting me know.” Dairon dropped her hands, and she and Beau stared at each other for a moment. “Are you going to class?”

Beau scowled and made a show of looking at her watch. She could run and make class on time. That’s what she would normally be doing. But maybe she didn’t want to. Was that a crime?

“You just said you would write me a note.” Beau’s voice held the right amount of bite, but was quieter than she intended.

Dairon could probably smell Beau’s weakness, and that did make her stomach churn a little. Worse still was the sudden awareness of hot, angry tears that were starting to burn her eyes. When had that started?

Dairon said nothing, although she had to have seen. “As you wish,” she said.

Dairon took her chair, located a paper and pen, and began to write. Beau sat on the desk beside where Dairon was working. Sitting in the desk normally would have gotten an instant reprimand but instead, as Dairon wrote, she placed her free hand on Beau’s knee. Beau pretended not to notice, instead pulling her sleeve over her hand and wiping her face. It wasn’t embarrassingly damp, thankfully.

They were like that for a while. Beau didn’t look down at what Dairon was writing– she couldn’t bring herself to– but she knew it wasn’t a complex job. “You’re taking a long time on the note.”

“I just want to get the wording right. A precision with language is important.” Beau had definitely heard that mantra before, although this was the first time it resulted in something arguably favourable to her interests.

Beau wiped her face again, angrily. “As long as you’re not waiting for me to ask you to stay.”

Dairon didn’t seem exactly put out by the idea, but clearly knew who she was working with. “I’d expect you to be a good deal more pragmatic than that.”

Dairon’s hand left a ghost on Beau’s knee as she withdrew it. She folded the paper in half a couple of times, and then held the note out to Beau between her index and middle finger. Beau took it, opened it, and read it. Then she kicked Dairon lightly in the stomach. “I hate you.”

“You already said that,” Dairon reminded her.

_Miss Beauregard Lionett is excused from classes this day to recover from the removal of a significant thorn in her side._

When Beau looked back up from her second read of the note, Dairon gave her a hair of a smile. “I forget, was it this side, or this one?” Dairon said, jabbing her in the ribs on both sides in quick succession. Too quick for Beau to block, though she tried. “Get off my desk, you know the rules,” Dairon added, more sternly.

Beau jumped to the floor. “Does this mean I can go back to my dorm and read?”

“If that’s what you want,” said Dairon. She knew it was. “Anything else I need to do, before I leave?”

“No.”

Beau sort of wanted Dairon to look hesitant, but she took Beau at her word. “Okay, then I’ll see you in two months. _Behave_. Because Zeenoth will be keeping me in the loop.” She nodded, and gestured for Beau step out of the office first.

It was a game of chicken, and Dairon didn’t get out of sight before Beau crumbled.

“Expositor?” she called down the hallway. She wasn’t sure why the urge to be formal struck her now. Maybe it was because Dairon was dressed for the occasion.

Dairon kept walking. “Dee?” she tried, no louder than before. And even though they were further apart now, Dairon stopped.

“Yes, Beau?” she said, not looking back.

Beau opened and closed her mouth a few times, grateful Dairon couldn’t see it. “Bring me a souvenir?”

“Let’s see how much trouble you get into, then we’ll talk.”

“Good morning,” said Yasha.

Beau startled a little, throwing the towel off herself. “Morning.”

“Did you and Jester have another domestic dispute?” asked Yasha, throwing a wad of clothes into the 3A clothes basket.

Beau scrambled into a seated position. “No? Why?”

“You’re sleeping on the floor in the shower block.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t sleeping.” Beau felt herself start to rub the towel between her fingers as she formulated a lie that would be more coherent than the truth. “I woke up all sweaty and gross, and concrete’s cold, so I figured I’d try to cool down enough to stop sweating before I showered.”

Yasha crouched down and touched the ground. “It is cold,” she said, expression unreadable.

Which reminded Beau… “Oh, Rosla wanted to talk to you.”

Yasha frowned. “Is she okay?”

Beau shrugged. “She seemed okay. Maybe worried about something.”

Yasha nodded, but seemed to bite down on the side of her cheek for a second. “I’ll find her before we leave.” Yasha got up from her crouched position and headed towards the shower stalls, around the corner and out of sight, but kept talking. “Are you coming to town with everyone?”

Beau felt her heart rate immediately pick up, not being able to see Yasha while she spoke. Beau was definitely sober, painfully so. “Thought I might.”

“Okay,” said Yasha. Then: “That hickey came out nicely.”

Beau stood and went to the mirror to inspect herself. _Ah, shit._ It wasn’t big, but it was dark. At least it was towards the base of her neck. “I’ve had worse. As long as Vorsha doesn’t see it next week and get ideas above her station.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” said Yasha. Then the sound of running water signalled the end of their conversation.


	35. Are These Words Working? Do They Work For You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Words by Kate Miller-Heidke
> 
> I lived! (By which I mean I have one more exam left and then in theory should graduate.)  
> Anyway, I'm now getting caught up on CR but the vibes so far in ep. 112 are Excellent.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Beau looked pretty rough. Which was not to say that she looked bad, but there was definitely something on her mind. Yasha would normally have no interest, and Beau didn’t exactly seem the sharing type, and yet there was more than one moment where Yasha nearly ignored both of these facts.

The only thing that held her back at the end, really, was that she didn’t quite know how to put the question together. The parts were there in front of her but she couldn’t work out how they locked in to each other. The drinking. The girl- Vorsha, was it? The ride home. This morning, the morning after.

All was quiet after Yasha turned on the water for her shower, and she had sort of figured that meant Beau had left when the conversation had died. Instead Yasha emerged wrapped in her towel to find Beau sitting on the bench, tucked into a corner, inspecting the towel.

“Did you find fleas on your towel?”

Beau looked up, and blinked a few times. She probably would have hated the comparison, but Yasha thought it looked much like the dazed expression Caleb wore before his first cup of coffee.

“No,” Beau said, after a short delay.

“Okay,” said Yasha.

Yasha started getting ready in front of the mirror. She could feel Beau watching her wings again, but she did her best to ignore it.

Yasha was half-done throwing her hair back into a couple of loose braids when she spoke to Beau. “Are you going to stare at me when I get dressed too?”

“I… uh… sorry.”

“I was making fun,” said Yasha.

“Oh.”

Yasha felt herself smiling a little as she went from the mirror to the shower stall where she’d left her clothes. She changed quickly in there, just to preserve the poor girl’s modesty. Which Yasha realised was a strange instinct, given what she had witnessed in Beau last night, but by then Yasha was already half changed.

Beau clearly had decided she was attaching herself to Yasha, which suited Yasha fine. Her mission, though, was to track down Rosla.

It didn’t take long. Yasha and Beau had just hit the gravel path when Yasha spotted a figure sitting on the steps next to 3A.

“She should be with the rest of the team,” said Beau, sounding a bit irritated. “But in terms of sneaking away from group activities, game recognises game.”

Yasha had no idea what that meant, but she picked up the pace slightly as she headed down to her cabin.

Rosla spotted them soon enough, and stood expectantly. When they were in speaking range, Yasha didn’t have time to get a word in edgeways before she was hit with a torrent of Celestial.

“I’m sorry, I know I should be with my group, but I lost the pin for my beads. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it. And I know that I could just put it on a thicker part of my braid, but I’m scared I’ll lose them when I’m running around and-”

Yasha held up her hands. _Woah._ Rosla breathed in sharply and Yasha could see that she was stubbornly blinking back tears.

“Sit,” said Yasha, also in Celestial. I was polite, but it was a command. Rosla obeyed, returning to the step. Yasha crouched down in front of her.

Rosla’s panic seemed to give way to embarrassment. “Sorry, Auntie,” she said.

Yasha couldn’t help but smile a little. “Auntie? Please, I know I’m married, but you’ll make me feel old.” Rosla gave a short, breathy laugh in response. “Are we speaking Celestial because we don’t want Miss Beau eavesdropping?”

Yasha looked over her shoulder in time to see Beau wave a little at her name- presumably the only two words she understood. “Still just Beau,” she said with a slightly awkward grin.

“I don’t know,” Rosla said. Then she shook her head and switched to Common. “Norda said to just go without them, but I couldn’t.”

Yasha nodded. “Of course not,” she said quietly. “Show me?”

Rosla placed the three beads into Yasha’s outstretched palm.

“Missing the pin, you said?” said Yasha.

“Yes.” Rosla fiddled with her lanyard as Yasha inspected the beads.

Despite Beau’ seemingly endless curiosity, especially when it came to languages, she looked very casual when Yasha glanced back at her again. Then Yasha looked down at her hand, and rolling one of the beads with her thumb, nodded. “If you’re worried about them not being tight enough without the pin, we can just work them into the braid, okay?”

There was a pause, and then Yasha added. “I can do it this time, if you like. I’ll show you how to do it yourself later, but right now I think Beau might want you back with your friends as soon as possible.”

“Hey, it’s just the rules. Don’t throw me under the bus!” said Beau.

“Okay,” Rosla said, entirely ignoring Beau in favour of making piercing eye contact with Yasha. The kind of eye contact that felt like a person was trying to transmit a thought directly into her brain.

Yasha put the beads back into Rosla’s hand, closed it, and then clasped it with both of her own. “Is there anything else bothering you?” Yasha said in Celestial. “Has someone said or done something?”

“No, Auntie.”

“Cheeky,” Yasha said. Then she let go and moved over to sit next to Rosla on the steps.

Yasha wasn’t aiming for perfection, so she made reasonably quick work of the three braids she worked above Rosla’s left ear, making a sort of faux undercut. She added a bead to each braid so they stacked approximately on top of each other when viewed from the side.

Yasha combed her fingers loosely through the rest of Rosla’s hair, moving it out of her face. “Better?”

Rosla touched each of the beads and nodded. Then she threw her arms around Yasha’s neck, hugging her tightly. Yasha could feel that Rosla was shaking.

Over Rosla’s shoulder, Yasha could see Beau frowning. “Is she okay?” she mouthed to Yasha.

“Your leader is asking me if you’re okay,” Yasha murmured to Rosla in Celestial, avoiding Beau’s name for the obvious reason.

There was a pause. “I’m not crying,” Rosla said, voice wavering.

“It would be okay if you were,” Yasha replied.

“I’m fine.” Rosla let go, but she kept her back to Beau. Yasha took the opportunity to pull Rosla’s hair, braids and all, back into rough ponytail so it was all off of her face.

“She’s so embarrassing, isn’t she? Worries too much,” Yasha joked.

Rosla smiled. “Yes, but she’s nice.”

“Hmm, well I’m glad she’s nice to you,” said Yasha. Rosla snorted. “There we go, all done.”

“Thank you,” Rosla said, in Common now. She stood quickly and turned to Beau. “Thank you for finding Miss Yasha for me.”

“No problem,” said Beau, patting Rosla’s shoulder a couple of times. “Now, back to the rest of the group.”

With no further persuasion required, Rosla took off running, either excited to get back to the activities or to work off the residual energy from the interaction.

Once Rosla was out of sight, the way Beau carried herself shifted completely. She folded her arms, leaned in towards Yasha. “What happened?”

“She lost the pin for the beads.”

“I got that much.” Beau rolled a piece of gravel around with the ball of her foot. “But it’s never just about the missing bead pin, or whatever, is it?”

Beau was looking at Yasha with an unsettling intensity, so Yasha pulled out The Magician’s Judge and started messing with it to avoid having to stare back.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” said Beau, scowling.

Yasha did a few more tricks, and then stopped. “I know you want to help.”

“Yeah, well, she’s one of my kids. That’s my job. And I know that she’s a first generation Dwendalian, and get that you guys have connected but…” Beau flicked her ankle, and the rock shots off down the hill at high speed. “It’s less about you, and more about me needing to do better, I guess. Next kid who comes around with the same problem, I want to be able to solve it.”

“You got her the help she asked for. Isn’t that solving the problem?”

Beau shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

Yasha opened and closed The Magician’s Judge, and then sighed heavily. “Wait here for a second.”

Yasha shoved the knife into her pocket and ducked into her cabin. She quickly located the box she need from under her bed, before returning to the veranda. She sat down, back against the wall, and gestured Beau over to sit beside her.

Beau looked wary, but joined her. Yasha took a moment to gather the pieces she was looking for. “Hand open. If you drop and lose any, I’ll kill you.”

Beau cupped both hands, and Yasha placed the set inside. “That’s the bead, and that’s the pin, and that’s the threader.” Yasha rolled one of the beads so Beau could see. “That’s my initials in runes. It’s kind of tacky, because I’ve had that one since I was little. I don’t wear it, but…”

Yasha felt herself trailing, and so she reclaimed the bead and accessories from Beau, replacing them with a matching bead set. “This was the first nice hair jewellery I had. The aunties got them for my present after I took the Marking. Rosla wouldn’t be old enough for that.” Yasha pointed out the specific bead. “That one is to represent the vow of celibacy, the other beads are for loyalty, bravery, that sort of thing. The cuffs are just ornamental, to compliment.”

Yasha swapped out for the next set, this time the eclectic collection of homemade beads. “These are the ones I would wear for everyday or for hunting. My party and I would make new ones sometimes when we got bored.” Yasha pointed to a particular bead, a thin tube of clay painted with a flower. “I made this one for a girl I liked, but she didn’t want it, so I kept it.”

“Is that a thing you all have to learn how to do? To make beads?” said Beau. Her eyes had been fixed on her hands since the presentation had begun.

“You don’t have to, it’s just common. Like how most people know how to paint, even if they’re very bad at it.”

Yasha pointed to the beads made of black clay. “That bead is for Auntie Daldra, she died when I was very little, so I don’t remember her. I just remember everyone else being sad, and one of the aunties helping me pick the bead. Those three are for my cousins who were born dead. All the same parents, Auntie and Uncle were very unlucky. And that one is for Osli, and that’s for...” Yasha had meant to say Zuala’s name casually, to get it over with, but she looked at the bead and then at Beau and suddenly the word choked back into her throat.

Beau seemed either didn’t notice or was polite enough not to say anything about it. “When do they get worn?”

“For the mourning period, which is about six months.” Yasha rolled Daldra’s bead back and forth in Beau’s palm.

Beau nodded, seeming to finally grasp the meaning and the gravity.

Yasha didn’t feel the need to hammer the point in. “Uh, these ones are my nice ones, and these are my very nice ones.” Yasha gestured to the relevant couple of sections in her jewellery box. “I don’t do my hair nicely every day, obviously.”

“What about the one you’re wearing now?” Beau said, indicating Yasha’s marriage bead.

“I got that one when I came of age,” Yasha said, which was not strictly untrue.

“So you keep it on so people will know that you’re a real adult.” Beau smirked. “I need one of those.”

The imagine of Beau with a marriage bead at the end of a braid stirred up far too many complex feelings for Yasha to form a coherent sentence, let alone a joke, so Beau’s comment just sat in the air for a while.

“Is that insensitive?” Beau said, clearly deciding the silence had gone on for too long. “Because I definitely didn’t keep celibate and obviously I don’t know if that would be disrespectful or-”

Yasha found her words again. “You already have your coming of age jewellery.” She tapped the piercing on Beau’s eyebrow. Beau never went into detail, but it was clear that she had gotten most of her piercings around the same time that she started living alone, which seemed to be the Empire equivalent.

Beau smiled a little at Yasha's words and shifted the beads into one hand. “Guess I do.” She placed her own fingers against the piercing. “Yeah, that’s a nice way to think about it.”

After a pause for contemplation, Beau held out her handful of beads. “You’d better take them back before I drop them.”

“Okay.” Yasha took them back, and began to sort them into their places.

Beau opened and closed her empty hands a few times. “Thank you for... you know. It was interesting and… good to know. For future reference.”

Yasha nodded. “No problem.”


	36. I Just Want To Help You If You’ll Let Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from This Is Not Forever by Kate Miller-Heidke
> 
> Sup y’all!!
> 
> A bit of a longer hiatus than expected etc. etc. Ten points to anyone who guessed it was because I, in fact, did not do well in that subject I was worried about. Still waiting on my supplementary exam results (essentially a retake/extra credit that you can do if you fail by a small enough margin) but I‘ve officially been accepted into my Honours course regardless, so that’s p cool.
> 
> So that, plus summer job, plus commission work, plus Christmas, plus moving back home now my grandfather has finally made up here and is living in his house, has meant that I’m well behind on CR and haven’t gotten much free writing of any sort done until now.
> 
> Anyway, enough excuses, super glad to be back! Hope y’all have had a good festive season and I hope you enjoy!

Jester was honestly doing her best not to make a big deal over nothing, but she had to admit seeing that Beau had been crying in her sleep was unsettling.

Jester tried to smile through her lingering unease when Beau returned from the showers, grateful at least that Beau was looking much peppier.

Beau flopped down on her bed. “I think Yasha speaks Celestial.”

Well, that explained that. “That’s cool,” said Jester. “Is that a language they offered in school for you guys?”

“I don’t remember it being.” Beau frowned in thought. “More likely to see that than Infernal though.”

“Okay.” Beau probably wasn’t wrong. The Empire hadn’t exactly filled Jester with pride for her heritage, to put it mildly.

“No, I meant that I still think it’s cool that you– that you and Molly speak Infernal.” Beau rolled onto her stomach and made eye contact with Jester. “Like, it’s a different cool.”

Jester looked away. “I mean, I barely speak Infernal. Before Molly I’d speak it with Mama, maybe some of the staff. I can read novels, but it takes me much longer than in Common.” She shrugged. “So I guess I’m fluent, but I’m much more suited for the domestic sphere, I guess.”

Beau picked at her blanket. “I don’t know, that’s kind of nice, to have more than one home language. I’ve been working on getting some more of the informal vocab for Elvish. It’s harder than it looks, even if you are fairly fluent.”

“I thought you said you spoke Halfling, not Elvish,” said Jester.

Beau smiled, that shine immediately coming to her eyes. “I do speak Halfing. And Elvish, and Dwarvish.” She kept picking at her blanket, taking a tone of faux modesty. “I mean, I’ve dabbled in a couple of others, but those are the ones I did exams for.”

“What do you use them all for?”

“You know, to talk to people.” Beau looked up, as if she was checking on Jester’s reaction, and then looked back down at the blanket to add, “Vorsha and I mostly spoke in Elvish last night. That was fun.”

Vorsha must have been the girl Beau went off with. It was funny the was Beau used her name, like this woman was a mutual friend of theirs. _Oh, you know, Vorsha._

“Probably not what the Cobalt Soul was expecting me to use my first-class education for, but what can you do?” Beau rolled over onto her back. “Anyway, the point is that Yasha speaks Celestial, and it’s super fucking hot.”

Jester didn’t disbelieve her, but in the heat of this moment was unsure how anything could be more attractive than the shine in Beau’s eyes.

Team Tuesday piled into two cars, with Fjord and Caleb driving, to travel to brunch. Beau had protested the driver selection at first, insisting that she would write out the sums then and there to demonstrate that she had sobered up enough to drive. Strangely enough, it was some murmured aside from Molly that convinced her to drop the issue, although not without Beau blushing scarlet and flipping him off.

Jester figured this was how she found herself in the back seat next to Beau, with Yasha riding shotgun next to Fjord. Nothing became of it of course, except for Beau occasionally glancing up from picking at a thread on her shorts to smile at Yasha. Sometimes Yasha even smiled back, although she seemed deep in thought about something. Jester would have felt entirely extraneous had Beau not taken a firm grip in her hand from the moment the car started moving.

There didn’t seem to be an abundance of brunch spots in town, so their destination was decided more by Caleb having remembered seeing it last night.

Molly took the lead as the group walked up to the hostess, who seemed to be a young woman around their age. She smiled at the their group, although something about it made Jester uneasy. Uneasy enough that, although she couldn’t fully explain why, she dropped to the back of the group.

“How many?” the hostess asked.

“Seven, please,” said Molly.

The host looked right past him, at Caleb. “How many?”

Caleb smiled tightly. “We’re all in the same group.”

At the same time, Beau visibly tensed. “We’ll go somewhere else.” She grabbed Molly’s elbow, and then let go of it just as suddenly. She also reached a hand back to Jester, which Jester accepted before she thought too hard about it.

Molly was looking at Beau strangely now, as was Jester. Caleb looked even more sour than usual, but seemed to take her behaviour as a prompt. “We’re all in the same group,” Caleb repeated, “And I think it goes without saying that our Menagerie friends eat with us, or we find somewhere else.”

“Best you found somewhere else then.” The hostess’s smile was not a smile anymore.

Beau had backed away, and was pulling Jester with her before the sentence was even complete.

The whole group followed suit somewhat, save Molly, who stood unmoved with his eyes fixed on this woman. Jester slipped from Beau’s grasp, went up beside him.

Molly didn’t look at Jester, but he was speaking in Infernal, so it must have been for her. “Watch this.”

“Mollymauk,” Yasha said in warning from behind them.

Jester saw Molly smile, setting his teeth so the canines poked into his lower lip and looked larger than they were. Jester mimicked him. Then Molly hissed, suddenly and violently.

“Freaks,” the host muttered.

Yasha grabbed both Molly and Jester by the arm. “That’s enough.”

Once they’d been dragged back a good distance, Jester could feel Fjord swoop in to take her elbow, presumably so Yasha could focus on managing Molly.

“Folks in the Empire don’t always-” Fjord began.

“I know,” said Jester, “I live here too.”

Once they returned to the cars, Jester surveyed the rest of the group. Inadvertently, it seemed everyone had split into their leadership teams. Yasha was gesturing emphatically as she spoke to Molly, who scowled petulantly. Nott stood awkwardly off to the side of them. Caleb was gripping Beau’s biceps as if holding her in place as he spoke. Beau herself looked incredibly twitchy, the way Mama might if she stepped out of the house for a minute or two. Nothing dramatic, but it was noticeable to someone who had seen it before.

The first thing Jester heard from Beau was the answer to Caleb’s question. “The second Molly opened his mouth,” she said, not looking at him.

“You’re sure?” said Caleb.

Beau seemed to take great offence at this, shrugging Caleb off violently. “Of course I’m fucking sure. Was I wrong?”

Yasha had apparently finished telling Molly off, and he appeared next to Jester. “Miss Beau, are you–”

“Fuck off!” Beau snapped at Molly. “All of you go! Fuck off. Show’s over.” Jester glanced around to see that the group was indeed watching Beau with varying levels of curiosity, so it was a fair enough reaction.

Jester and Caleb exchanged a look as the rest of the group retreated and turned away to resume conversing. Beau took a shaky breath, but she didn’t relax.

“It’s not a big deal, it just got me for a second, okay?” Beau pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Molly and Jester were the ones it was directed at.”

Caleb tried to touch her, but she smacked him away. Caleb scowled, “Fine, stay with Jester, we’ll text you when we find a spot that has a little bit less of the small-town mindset.”

Beau flipped Caleb the bird, to which he blinked, turned heel, and walked off. The rest of the group followed, Molly apparently taking a second serve from Yasha.

Once they were alone, Beau sat on the ground with her back to her car and buried her head in her knees. “Are you okay?” said Jester.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Beau repeated.

“Sorry for what?”

Beau didn’t answer. She was stock still, which scared the shit out of Jester more than anything.

It felt like nothing Jester could say would be right, so what the hell. “It’s okay,” she said in Infernal.

Beau instantly looked up at her. “It’s okay,” Jester repeated.

There was a pause, and Beau licked her lips. “ _Pretty, stubborn, infuriating Empire girl_ ,” she said carefully.

“Sure, whatever works,” Jester said, still in Infernal. “If calling you names keeps you from going wherever you’re going, let’s do it, you stubborn, infuriating–.”

“ _Pretty_ ,” Beau finished for her.

“Sure, you’re pretty. Of course. So pretty.” Jester hoped her face didn’t look as warm as it felt, but a Beau didn’t seem to be looking directly at her anyway.

Beau put her head back down, but her body heaved with a massive breath. She mumbled something to herself in a language Jester didn’t understand.

“It’s okay,” Jester said again.

Beau resurfaced. “ _It’s okay_ ,” she mimicked. Then she looked off to the side, continuing to mutter. Jester recognised it now. Elvish.

“Thinking about Vorsha to calm yourself down?” Jester said, before fully thinking it through.

Beau pulled a face but continued whatever she was muttering until it came to this neat sort of end. Jester didn’t know Elvish, but growing up with her mother meant that she knew metre where she heard it.

“Did you guys recite fancy Elvish poetry to each other?” Jester prompted, when Beau still didn’t reply to her first question.

“No,” said Beau. “I don’t entirely think she picked me for my brains.”

That was an issue for another time, Jester figured. “What’s the poem?”

“It’s, uh…” Beau closed her eyes to think, “…it’s about this little kid fucking around in his dad’s library imagining things while his father is off _serving in the Righteous Brand_.” Beau put air quotes around the last part.

“This kid’s dad is dead?”

“One hundred percent. Very moving, very tragic.” Beau bit her lip, then released it. “Anyway, the little boy’s name is the Elvish equivalent of Beauregard, so my mentor would recite lines from it to piss me off. I guess being kind of pissed is my neutral setting, because now it just calms me down, I guess?”

Jester paused for a long while, as Beau made use of her newly regained control over her breathing. Eventually, Jester knelt down level with her. “I know it’s not my business,” said Jester, “but do you-”

“It’s not your business, no,” said Beau.

Jester nodded. “In that case, I’ll just say thank you.”

“What for?”

“For covering me and Molly with your hypervigilance.” Beau gave a small frown. “I know you don’t do it on purpose, but it means that somewhere in there you like us enough to want to protect us. So thank you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like I say to Caleb: don’t get a big head about it.” Beau frowned a little deeper, picked at one of the scabs on her shin. “Hypervigilance?”

“The thing you and Fio were bonding over that one time.”

“Oh, that?” Beau shrugged. “I’ve always been able to do the faces thing.”

It’s was Jester’s turn to not entirely follow. “Faces thing?”

Beau moved onto a new scab, her previous site now smooth but the vulnerable pink of a wound barely healed. “My mentor would insist my brain is runs the processing for body language, faces, whatever, faster than most people. So I can see the faces people make before they choose to make a face.”

Jester nodded. “What face was the woman back there making?”

“Disgust. Contempt. Mostly contempt. Some fear.” Beau swallowed. “She was scared of Molly. I think she suspected just looking at him, because she braced herself, but when she saw the canines as he spoke, that’s when she got really scared.”

Jester didn’t have Beau’s prowess, but even she could see that Beau was scared too, scared of this woman’s fear. A fear of fear, it seemed almost paradoxical.

“But all that has nothing to do with me overreacting all the time,” Beau said, before Jester could bring this up.

“It didn’t seem like it was an overreaction to me. And if it was, maybe that’s because you got us out of there before it was bad.” Jester hovered a hand near Beau. “Can I touch you?”

Beau reached out and pulled Jester’s hand towards her, rather than reply. “You’re so weird.”

Jester placed her hand flat over Beau’s heart. Beau, apparently instinctually, gripped Jester’s wrist. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, but Jester could feel every muscle in Beau’s body was coiled with tension.

“Thank you, for caring enough to try to keep us safe,” said Jester.

Beau inhaled sharply, paused, and then gave a small but mischievous grin. “Do I get a lollipop for my troubles?”

Jester returned the smile. “No. You’ll spoil your appetite for brunch.”

Beau studied Jester’s face, as she often had before, but now that had new meaning. “What are you seeing?” Jester murmured, half to herself.

Beau reached her free hand out and cupped Jester’s cheek, and Jester in turn put her free hand against that. The two of them seemed to just sit in that for a while, Beau’s hand on Jester’s hand on Beau’s sternum and Jester’s hand on Beau’s hand on Jester’s cheek.

Then, as if she was trying to do it quickly enough that neither of them would notice, a Beau put a hand either side of Jester’s head and leaned in to plant a single kiss of her forehead.

 _You missed,_ was the thought that instantly came to Jester’s mind, although she never would have said it out loud. In the time it took Jester to have and dismiss that thought, Beau had already disengaged from the situation, standing and brushing herself off.

Beau brushed her knuckle against her lips. “Let’s go find the others, then. I’m starving.”


End file.
